Shenanigans: The Bizzare Story of Brian Hughes
by TopGear2k6
Summary: Brian Hughes, a young pitching prospect in the Kansas City Royals farm system, draws the ire of a mysterious Organisation and its boss. When the tension escalates into war, does Brian have what it takes to save the world?
1. Humble Beginnings

_February 25th, 2005. Brian's home._

Brian was busy in his room playing Kingdom Hearts. That goddamn Sephiroth had killed him one times too many, and by Jove, one of these times he was going to get him! He checked the clock. Dammit. It was 4:45 and he had to go to work soon. His cell phone rang. It was his friend, Donald.

"Yeah, what do want? Make it quick, I have to work soon."

"Brian... You know how we enrolled you in the MLB amateur draft as a joke?"

Brian rolled his eyes at the mention. "Yeah, what of it? That was the worst joke ever, by the way."

"Yeah... well... Uh..."

"Spit it out, I have to get moving."

"You were drafted."

"What?"

"Exactly what I said."

"By who?"

"The Royals."

"That black hole of a baseball team?"

"One and the same. They expect you to be at the Mavericks' training camp in a couple of weeks. Say March 15th."

"I gotta go."

Brian hung up the phone, unbelieving at what he just heard. He was definitely a baseball freak and could name just about every single statistic and its significance (or lack of), but that didn't translate to success on the diamond. He couldn't even throw that fast. He did practice breaking balls, like the knuckler. But that didn't matter... Did it?

Brian checked his calendar. He had to be at UTI California around the same time. A godsend. He could probably split time, and after he proves himself to be a bust, he can go back to his regularly scheduled programming.

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_March 15, 2005. Mavericks training camp._

Brian came in with his stuff all pumped up. He came here for bubble gum, and he's all out of ass. Er, wait, was that how it went? Anyway, that's not important. He went up to the manager after signing in, and realised then and there that he still had no clue what he had been signed as.

So he waddles up in his bubbly way and checks. Crap. He was signed as a starting pitcher. No good. He can't throw that hard, maybe 78 mph at the most. Hardly major league stuff. Maybe coming up here was a bad idea. He went out onto the field. Good god, this wasn't going to fun. All around him were these 6', finely toned studs, and here he was a 5'7" lardball. His chances of actually making the team are even worse than he thought.

The pitching coach booms over the stadium loudspeakers: All pitchers report to the bullpen for pitch clocking. God is conspiring against me, he thought. He did a sign of the cross and made sure to get on at the end of the line.

90. 93. 89. 95. Big manly men came up and hurled the ball so hard they nearly knocked the poor sap on the recieving end on his ass. Finally, it was Hughes's turn to pitch. He reared up and hurled a mighty strike. GRRRR! I ARE HE-MAN! ARRRRGH!

78 miles per hour. No, I didn't go for the 9 and type 7 by accident. The radar gun's 10s digit wasn't broken. 78 miles per hour. PATHETIC.

The pitching coach took one look at the gun and started laughing his ass off. For 5 minutes, there was nothing but loud guffaws emanating from the bullpen, drawing other players to see what the ol' hullabaloo was about, and they too burst into laughter. Brian was humiliated and cried into his teddy bear that night. Meanwhile, management was baffled when their uniform pants-cleaning budget was double what they expected.

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_March 16. 2005. Mavericks training camp._

It was only one day since the big humiliation at Mavericks Stadium. Brian was dazed and confused, using the bottle for comfort. It didn't help matters that his girlfriend was 3000 miles away in New Jersey. He came into Mavericks camp the next day with a slight hangover and a "---- the world" attitude. Today they were going to work on locating pitches. pfff. He can do this.

Brian stumbled onto the pitcher's mound, belched, and the taste of rum with Coke came back up. blagh. The pitching coach giggled at the sight of "small ball Hughes", as Brian was now known as, coming up to the mound. "Ok, first I want to see your curveball, see if you can throw SOMETHING right."

Curveball? Bahaha! That's child's play. Brian shook the drunkeness out of his eyes and tossed the ball with a snap of the wrist.

The ball sailed 5 feet over his head, and the catcher jumped up to catch it. But, a miracle occured. The ball dropped straight down on its way to the plate and the catcher snagged it mere inches above the ground. Startled, he looked at the pitching coach as if to confirm what he had just seen.

The coach, in a state of bewilderment, asked the radar gun boy, "What did that clock?"

"56 miles an hour, sir," replied the lad.

Coach stroked his goatee in thought. "This guy could be the anti-Randy Johnson."

He called Brian over. "What's your name, son?"

"Ish Brayhan, shuh. urp," drawled Brian in a drunken stupor.

Coach glanced at the gun boy with an "oh boy" expression on his face.

"Well, mine's Steve, Brian. Steeeeve. Did you get that?"

"Loud and hic clear, shuh."

"Now toss me some other pitches."

Brian hobbled back over to the mound. "I like thish pish, pershonallleeeee. mah friendss callededed it screwy."

Steve leaned over to one of his assistants and whispered, "This boy can't really hold his liquor, can he?"

Brian punched his glove a couple of times to get pumped up. The wind up, and the pitch.

The catcher set up on the outside corner of the plate as the ball sailed towards that side, but suddenly decided it didn't like that direction and flew back over to actually come over on the inside corner. A screwball to write home about, thrown by a right-hander no less.

Steve nodded approvingly and asked the gun boy, "Velocity?"

"68 miles an hour."

"Nice and slow, I see. So, you got anything else for us? Or are you a two-trick pony?"

"Ohhhh, don't worry, Coash. I got plenty of tricksh for a pony. pretty little pony, heheheh..."

"Well, show them."

"Aw 'ight guvnah. thish is a knuckleball, thrown RIGHT, not like that fraud wakefield."

"Wakefield a knuckleball fraud? This guy likes talking stuff. Hm. But if he can back it up..."

Brian lobbed a knuckler to the catcher. Have you ever seen a catcher dance? Well, this poor sap came pretty close. Inside! No, outside! It's coming! No, wait, it darted back! High! No! Low! Finally it sailed right by the catcher, who still didn't know what the hell was going on.

Steve's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What the blue hell was that?"

Brian shrugged. "A knuckleball?"

"A knuckleball? That was a ----ing greased pig ball! Good god! What's the reading on that?"

"56 miles an hour, coach," faithfully replied the gun boy.

Steve sank back into the bench, still unbelieving at what he had just seen. If he was not hallucinating, the Royals probably had one of the best off-speed prospects in the history of the game sitting here right in their laps like a choir boy at a priest convention.

Brian tripped off the mound and mumbled, "i also got a slider, but it ain't nothin' special. now, if you'll excuse me, i gotta take a poop."

Steve brought his hand to his forehead, wondering how in God's green earth he was going to explain this to the higher-ups. /i 

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_March 19, 2005. Mavericks skipper's office._

"Are you absolutely sure about this? You weren't sloshed again, were you? Like when you called Manny Ramirez 'just another big guy who won't do anything'?" demanded the skipper incredulously.

"No, Dan. This is the real deal. We have eyewitnesses. This guy throws some of the best slow stuff I've ever seen in my 30 years of observing prospects. I-i-i-it's just amazing," stammered Steve.

"I don't believe it. I'll have to see his garbage for myself."

The next day, Dan walked out to the dugout while Brian was warming up and plopped his wrinkly ass on the bench. He had a nice burrito for lunch. Mmmmm. Burrito. Steve sauntered up to Brian and pointed out Dan sitting on the bench. The pressure was on. On, I tell you.

"Don't show your best stuff just yet. It'll make more of an impact if you almost prove him right before you put him back in his place. He's only an A manager, after all."

"Har, don't worry about me. I'm just fine," beamed Brian.

Brian tossed a nice slider to the catcher. It had decent 9-3 movement, but was only 77 mph. Not exactly fireball material.

"Pfff. My grandmother could toss a slider like that, and she's DEAD!"

Ooooh. Brian wasn't about to let Dan get away with that. He wound up and tossed his curveball. It more resembled a softball slo-pitch with its 6 feet of breaking. In speed, too.

"Hm, not too bad. Could knock a lot of guys off balance..."

Brian simply smirked and manipulated the ball in his mitt to screwball grip. He took a step foward and tossed the ball with his straight-arm overhand motion, reminiscent of Mike Mussina's delivery. The ball darted from the right to the left side of the plate as if it were possessed.

"Wow. Ok, maybe I was wrong."

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Dan," Steve mumbled. Brian looked to Steve, who threw up the knuckleball sign. He smirked, and Brian smirked and nodded in return. He curled his fingers on the ball, making sure not to touch any seams. Windup, toss.

The ball darted up twice, then dipped twice, and wiggled side to side two times. All it was missing was the B, A, Select.

Dan stared in amazement and a wet fart rumbled up from the bench.

"My god! Arghlamaksdgajksdakdbtajkhbyawjkbhyawehjayuku..."

"I think you've stunned him speechless," Captain Steve of the Obviousness commented. "You've done me proud."

"OH MAH GAWD! I don't know what to make of this. Maybe you're not destined for simple A ball. I see better things in your future..."

"Like a major league career?" inquired Brian hopefully.

An unknown voice spoke up from behind him. "Maybe not, but you'll be able to get mad ass if you show that trick off at parties."

Brian whipped around. A 7'0" near-stick figure towered over him, a stark contrast to his 5'7", 180 lb frame.

He offered a handshake. "My name's Denton Ruth. Pleased to meet you."

Dan walked up and put his hand on Brian's shoulder, gesturing towards Denton. "This is another prospect we have high hopes for. Denton here could probably get an inside-the-park home run off a drag bunt, that's just how damn fast this guy is."

Brian gazed up at the towering man. "My name's Brian, Denton. Maybe if we're lucky, we'll get to play in the majors."

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_OPENING DAY_

Bill: Hello, it is I, Bill Zoss and Kory Bowman, hosts of your local sports show, "Idiots in California!"

Kory: Good day to all, folks. Today, we've got you a dandy for you to see. Today, the High Desert Mavericks debuted two of the top prospects in the baseball world, who probably aren't going to stick around for long: off-speed deity Brian Hughes, and basepath scorcher Denton Ruth.

Bill: That they did, Kory. Unfortunately, our cameraman called in sick five minutes before the game started, so we don't have any video. But we do have stats. Apparently Denton went 4-4 with 4 extra base hits as Brian struck out 12 without giving up a run.

Kory: How... Exciting.

Bill: Shut up. We make do with what we have.

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_April 10, 2005: Brian's apartment._

It's been a rough day. An engine blew up on him during class. He thought he tightened the fuel filter enough, but apparently not, and his engine went up in a cloud of smoke. Bad stuff. Very.

So he was sitting in his room playing some SSX3 to calm his nerves when his phone rang. It was Denton.

"What the hell do you want?" demanded Brian.

"Calm down, or I'll kick your ass tommorrow."

"Tommorrow?"

"Yeah, you're pitching."

"I am?"

"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Well, I didn't think that I was still needed."

"Dude, you're the best pitcher in the minors right now if you listen to the press. No way they're gonna drop you."

Brian hung up. How did he get into this? He just wanted to go to UTI, get a good education, and go back to Jersey to live happily ever after with his girlfriend. But fate seemed to have other things in store. He could feel them. Or maybe he just had to fart. Either or. Brian lifted up his leg and let 'er rip. I guess it was just a fart. Moving on, now.

He never anticipated actually being drafted. Maybe somebody just misclicked. Regardless, it seemed that he was destined for the majors.

The next day, he suited up and got ready for action. The crowd of 2,000 was screaming. Oh, the adrenaline rush. He heard a girl calling out his name and screaming "I LOVE YOU BRIAN! I WANT YOUR BABIES!"

He turned in the direction of the voice and saw a extremely fat girl with acne and pigtails screaming at him. He shuddered and struggled to cleanse his mind of such thoughts, replacing them with ones of his girlfriend back home. Her beautiful eyes, her kissable lips, and, of course, her fondness for wearing low cut shirts.

Brian almost started drooling on the mound and suddenly noticed that he was becoming happy in the trouser area. Not good! Hiding his "problem" by subtly placing his glove over it, he got ready to pitch...

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_Modesto Nuts High Desert Mavericks_

Bill: Welcome once again to our "Idiots in California" sports segment. I'm Bill Zoss, and Kory Donan is my partner here in the studio.

Kory: Uh, it's "Bowman", not Donan.

Bill: Whatever.

Kory: Jackass.

Bill: Anyway, onto the High Desert Mavericks game. This game is notable for two numbers: 10 and 0. 10 is the number of K's that Hughes got, 0 is the amount of leeway the ump gave.

Kory: Yeah, his strike zone was mighty narrow.

Bill: Here's a highlight. First batter of the game, Brian tosses a little fastball that is clearly over the plate, maybe just pokes out an inch or two - and the ump calls ball, and the batter walks.

Kory: If you're a pitcher, you hate to see such an obvious strike get called a ball, and you hate it even more when it becomes a BB.

Bill: Very boring game so far.

Kory: One of those Modesto Nuts fools actually gets a homer off of Brian in the top of the 4th. Brian tosses a knuckler that doesn't knuckle very much and the hitter ropes it over the Collossus Burger sign for the big fly.

Bill: Next highlight is the bottom of the 6th, and only in Mavericks Stadium will you see such a scene: Denton Ruth ropes one towards the cornfield, and he only comes half a foot away from getting a home run.

Kory: Given that he doesn't exactly hit for power, it's pretty good.

Bill: Please, Kory, you also have to remember that right porch is only 290 feet away from home.

Kory: Still.

Bill: Anyway, Denton gets a double off of that, and kick starts a 3 run inning that seals the deal for the Mavericks, as Brian holds the Nuts to only 1 run to maintain an unreal 0.56 ERA.

Kory: And guess who we have as an interviewee tonight?

Bill: Pamela Anderson?

Kory: You wish.

Bill: One of these days she'll be on this show.

Kory: Quiet. Our guest tonight is Dan, the skipper for the Mavericks. Dan?

Dan: Good evenin', fellas!

Bill: When did you become a southerner?

Dan: I'm just floating on air from today's game. Brian is absolutely amazing. If he doesn't get called up to AA or even AAA in the next couple of weeks, I'd be surprised.

Kory: Well, Hughes is one of our subjects. But right now, let's talk about Denton. The guy hits for average and can steal bags, but doesn't have too much power. Are you concerned?

Dan: Not really. It doesn't matter whether or not you blast a ball over the fence or single, steal, and score on a base hit, as long as you score. Denton's hitting pretty good this season, and his theft skills help this team out.

Bill: The little clock up there is counting up now, that's not good, so we have time for one more question. Predict how much K's Brian will get his next start.

Dan: 15.

Bill: Really?

Kory: What a kook. Anyway, we're plumb out of time, so later all, idiots!

Bill: Do we really call our viewers that?

Kory: Quiet, you son of a -

Bill: Camera's still rolling.

Kory: Oh.

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_April 12th, 2005: Brian's apartment._

It was a pretty good start, despite the fact that he was packing a shotgun in his shorts for the first inning. 10 Ks wasn't that bad, especially with the ump's impossibly narrow zone. He was real steamed at that guy. But one thing intrigued Brian: he saw the ump wearing a Yankees hat before the game, and whenever he called a strikeout, he did so reluctantly. Could that one idiot be trying to sabotage his career? Nah... Couldn't be.

As he was watching an F1 race in his living room with his arm in ice after his last start, the phone rang. Brian answered it with a singsongy "hello", indicating his happy mood. The voice on the other end was not so happy.

"The boss doesn't appreciate you doing so well. Be wary. If you continue to do so well, you might find yourself in trouble."

Shaken, Brian slammed the phone down, waited a few seconds, and then picked it up again to call Denton.

"What the hell do you want?" asked Denton in mock irritation.

"I just got a rather odd phone call. Some guy was telling me that 'the boss' wasn't happy about my performance and that I'd better tone it down if I know what's good for me."

"It's probably just an idiot trying to spook you. Don't pay it too much mind."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"By the way, Dan told me that some of the higher-ups in the Royals organisation are going to be checking out your next start. If we both do well, we might be headed for Wichita."

"No, that's no good at all..."

"Why?"

"Well, I go to school here. If we go up to Wichita, I wouldn't be able to balance my school and baseball. It's just no good..."

"You're going to have to make a decision."

"..."

"..."

"Could you be any more obvious?"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to say? I can't be making your decisions for you."

"Yeah, that's true. I'm just a bit overwhelmed is all."

"Well, don't you have a girlfriend? Call her, maybe she can help."

"Good idea. I'll see you at practice tommorrow."

Brian hung up the phone, and stared at the TV, not really seeing anything. Suddenly, his TV exploded and sparks showered everywhere. Brian dove under his couch and put his hands over his head.

After a couple of minutes, he crawled back out. What the hell caused his TV to explode? He glanced out his window and could have sworn he saw a man duck from the roof next to his. He must be seeing things...

_April 17th: Mavericks Stadium._

Brian toed the rubber and threw a couple of warmup tosses as the capacity crowd of 10,570 went ballistic for him. The potential between the two overnight superstars, Brian and Denton, was immense. Records could fall in their careers. But right here, right now, was the chance to move up. If they blew this, their careers could be nipped in the bud.

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_Elisnore Storm High Desert Mavericks_

Kory: Ok, folks, we're back at "Idiots in California". It's time for the Mavericks portion of the program.

Bill: Get a load of this. 9.0 innings pitched, only 5 hits and 2 runs given up with 13 strikeouts. Sound like a sure win to you?

Kory: Yep.

Bill: You're wrong. Brian suffers the first loss of his career at no fault of his own. He pitched a fine gem of a game, but gave up a run batted in the first and a home run in the 3rd to seal the deal 2-0.

Kory: And we have to issue an apology to Dan, the skipper of the Mavericks. He predicted 15 strikeouts for Brian in this start and we called him a kook, but Brian rebounded and almost proved the skipper right with 13.

Bill: Anyway, highlights. In the top of the 3rd here comes little Garces up to bat. He hits a little poopoo that in any other park would be a routine fly-out. But this isn't any other park, this is Mavericks stadium. It floats into the cornfields, a pathetic 291 foot home run.

Kory: That stings.

Bill: And really, that's the only highlight. Very uneventful game. Denton's bat stayed asleep for most of the game, although he still maintains a good .310 average.

Kory: Royals big wigs were present at today's game to observe Brian and Denton. It's possible that their presence unnerved the rest of the team and caused them to become so lackadaisical.

Bill: We have one of them present right here for a little interviewy-poo. How's it hanging, Mike?

Mike: Did you just say "interviewy-poo?"

Bill: I'm the one asking the questions around here. First off, the obvious. What do you think of Brian's performance so far?

Mike: He did exceptional today. The loss was that of the team, not him.

Kory: And...?

Mike: What?

Bill: Aren't you going to announce something? Possibly... The chance of a career advancement of a certain player?

Mike: If I was going to announce that, it wouldn't be on some backwater show like this. I'm leaving.

Kory: Fine. We didn't want you here anyway! _sniffle _I'm Kory Bowman... _sob_

Bill: And I'm Bill Zoss. See ya later, everybody! Hey, Kory, do you need a hankerchief or something?

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_April 23rd, 2005: Brian's Apartment._

It was a curse and a blessing. Brian didn't get the call-up to Wichita, which caused an uproar in the baseball world. There were riots everywhere. Cities burned! People died! Women and children were raped! Well, not really. But nobody was happy about the non-call, except for Brian. It gave him a couple more days to think about what to do in case he was.

Denton, however, was fuming. FUMING. He couldn't stand to play with the anemic Mavericks anymore and hoped to move up to people who could actually play baseball. This anger caused his performance to slip a little bit, and his batting average was down to .294.

Now another chance to prove themselves. Brian's next start was now. An hour before game time, Brian went into his living room to pick up his bag of stuff and heard something whiz past his ear. He frantically looked around and noticed a bullethole in the wall behind. He hit the deck and crawled into his bathroom, which had no windows. Somebody was hunting him down. He called the police, who gave him an escort to the stadium.

Now, standing in the dugout before the game, he brought his concerns to Denton.

"Somebody really hates me, man. First my TV explodes and I spot a guy on the roof of the building next to my apartment, and then today somebody shot at me. Maybe I should give up baseball."

Denton blinked in disbelief. "Somebody SHOT at you?"

"Yeah. I heard something whiz past me and then I spotted a bullethole on the wall behind me. It's really bad stuff."

"Hot damn. Maybe you should stay at my place. It's not good to live with somebody sniping at your house."

"Well, I'd hope not. But I might take you up on your offer."

Steve walked up. "Hey, what the hell're you doing chatting up people, Brian? You're supposed to be warming up."

Brian only managed a half-hearted "oh" and walked up to the mound. He noticed the pro scouts in the seats, and glanced at the 290 ft. right field wall, which had been the bane of his existance ever since he gave up that HR in his last start. He shook his head and prepared to strike fools out, even though his mind was heavy with other thoughts.

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_Lancaster JetHawks High Desert Mavericks_

Bill: Hello, fellow idiots. You've tuned in once again to our "Idiots in California" sports show. I'm sure you know who I and my partner are, so we'll spare you the introduction.

Kory: Today, everything clicked for the Mavericks. Brian pitched a three-hit one-run win with 16 strikeouts, and helped the Mavericks win 6-1.

Bill: It was a fine day indeed. Denton raised his average from a paltry for him .294 to a nice .323 by going 3-4.

Kory: He also stole third base for his 9th steal of the season and scored shortly thereafter.

Bill: Now, we know what you people want: HIGHLIGHTS.

Kory: Top of the first, Brian has some control issues and loads the bases with 2 walks and a hit. The JetHawks cleanup hitter comes and bloops it to the left fielder, which scores the go-ahead run. BUT! The left fielder rockets it to 2nd base and gets the out. Brian then strikes out the next two batters to end the inning, men left on the corners.

Kory: Bottom of the first inning, Denton Ruth up to bat, and lasers one into right field. He reaches 2nd and thinks about third, but the right fielder gets to the ball too quickly.

Bill: If he played at Turner Field, he'd have several inside-the-park home runs.

Kory: But he doesn't.

Bill: Next, bottom of the second inning, Jennings up to bat and hits a really high floater to left field. It floats, it floats, it floats, and lands just behind the Collosus Burgers sign for a solo blast, giving the Mavericks the lead they wouldn't relinquish.

Kory: Now, in the bottom of the 7th, the Mavericks lead 3-1 and have a big 3 run inning to seal the deal, although Denton gets the short end of the stick by being left on third while the final out is recorded.

Bill: All in all, the Mavericks finished with 12 hits and 6 runs, runs that Brian would have liked in his last start.

Kory: Now we're going to move on to the possibility of an NFL team coming to Los -

_screen goes black_

_staticstatic fades away, a shadow of a head can be seen against the black_

: This is a message to YOU, Brian Hughes. I warned you that the boss doesn't like what you're doing. I warned you to tone it down. But you didn't listen to me, Brian. That was a bad mistake to make. Now the boss will make your life a living hell. Have fun.

_static_

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_April 24th, 2005: Mavericks skipper's office._

The baseball world was atwitter with the "Idiots in California" incident. Conspiracy theories abounded about who was the "boss" that the man referred to. The guesses were wide and varied, from George Steinbrenner to a 36 year old autistic man. It was craziness. The clip was shown on almost every news network in the country. But right now none of that mattered. Brian and Denton were sitting in Dan's office awaiting word on whether or not they'd be called up. Dan was on the phone with the Royals GM.

"Yes, alright. I'll be sure to tell them."

Dan hung up the phone, leaned backwards and stared at the ceiling. He sighed and turned to Denton and Brian with a blank expression on his face.

Brian locked up. If he did get called up, he wouldn't know what to do. Denton also locked up. This was the chance he'd been waiting for... If he didn't get it...

"Boys, I'm sorry to tell you..."

Denton jumped up and tossed his chair across the room.

"Hey, calm down, man." Dan suddenly broke into a big smile: "You did it!"

Denton started jumping around the office screaming for joy, while Brian just stared into space, wondering what to do.

Dan was puzzled. "Aren't you glad that you got the call?"

Brian didn't hear him.

That night: Brian's apartment.

Despite Denton's warnings, Brian went to his own apartment that night, deep in thought. He turned on the TV.

Bill: I'm Bill Zoss and this is my collegue Kory Bowman. First, in tonight's news, Brian and Denton get the call! They're headed to Wichita with all due speed...

Suddenly, Brian heard a knock at his door. It was nearly midnight, who would come a-knockin'?

Brian opened the door. His eyes went wide at who he saw.

"Stacy? What the hell are you doing here?"

It was unbelievable. Stacy, Brian's girlfriend, was standing here right in front of him, at midnight 3000 miles from her house back in Brian's hometown in NJ.

She looked at him with her wide green eyes and smiled. "You're all over the news back home. I figured you might need some moral support."

"You're more right than you might think."

"Talk to me, I might be able to help you."

Several hours, Brian had explained all that was bothering him.

"And tommorrow I make the start in Wichita. Denton's already gone to Wichita and played a doubleheader today. I don't know what to do."

"Your parents want you to continue with baseball."

Brian fell backwards in his chair. "Why's that?"

"They figure it would be better for you if you played baseball and made your mark in history instead of just being a nobody collision repairman your entire life. Besides, your dad used to play for the Binghamton Mets, did he ever tell you that?"

"No, he didn't..."

"He played catcher for them, and people thought he was destined for a major league career when he was shot in the knee by somebody claiming that they were working for 'the boss' and that your dad stepped over the line by doing so well."

"You're kidding."

"No, why?"

"The same thing is happening to me. Some person is telling me that 'the boss' isn't happy with the amount of progress I've made and has issued a threat to me."

"hm... It seems too weird to just be a coincidence."

"I don't know. But, now only one thing remains in question," Brian rose from his chair.

"What's that?"

"How long would it take to drive to Wichita?"


	2. To Wichita!

_April 25th: Highway to Wichita._

It was 1:00 in the morning. Stacy's Chrysler Sebring was pounding down the highway at a mighty clip of 120 mph. There were almost no cops on the freeway, and the combination of the lack of things to look at and the Sebring's thrumming motor caused Brian to nod off.

It was a peaceful sleep, marked by happy dreams of succeeding in life and making the MLB Hall of Fame. Brian probably had a ----eating grin on his face as he dozed. Yes, it was a happy sleep. But the happiness was about to be shattered. Brian was jolted awake by an ear-splitting scream from the car's tires. Looking around in a slight daze, Brian looked around to see what had caused all this. Directly ahead on the freeway, he spotted a roadblock of several expensive-looking, jet-black sedans.

A man stepped out from a sedan parked outside of the roadblock. Brian was confused, then his eyes widened as the man pulled out a gun. He reached over and hit the gas pedal, causing the Chrysler to lurch foward.

"What are you doing?" Stacy screamed.

"Just let me get into the driver's seat!" Brian yelled back.

They pulled a switcheroo and now Brian was in command of the car. Gunshots rang out from their left side. Stacy dove from her seat to under the glove compartment, whimpering. Speeding towards the roadblock at 75 mph, Brian snapped the wheel to the right and the car dove off the road into the sand. He snapped the wheel back and the car obliged him with a big powerslide back onto the road. Brian looked behind him. He had successfully evaded the roadblock. He smiled to himself, thinking about how they said that video games would never be useful in life.

The smile was quickly wiped off his face when he noticed the sedans giving chase. Their speed astounded Brian, he was going 80 mph and the cars were already catching up to him. One of them pulled up alongside the Chrysler and held steady. Its sunroof opened and a man wearing a black shirt and sunglasses popped up and produced an MP7 from under the sunroof. Thinking quickly but not too rationally, Brian jolted the wheel to the right and rammed the sedan keeping pace with him. It wobbled before turning a 180, but it still kept pace with Brian, even in reverse. Brian ducked as the man in the sunroof fired off a volley.

The sedan whipped back around to face foward again, its passenger side now showing a big dent littered with white paint from the Chrysler. Checking his blind spots, Brian noticed another sedan pulling up on the right side. This one didn't bother with a gunman. It drifted further to the right a bit and rammed the Sebring as hard as it could, sending it flying back into the sedan on the left, and right back into the car on the right again, like a game of Pong. The Sebring spun multiple times before Brian got a hold of it again, now at a dead stop facing the side of the road. He looked out the window as the sedan that was on his right veered into the sand, hit a ditch, and caught some serious air before landing on its gas tank and exploding, cooking a herd of cattle in the process.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but something was amiss. Brian looked out the passenger side window and his eyes widened again as he saw a jet-black 18-wheeler rumbling down the highway at top clip directly at the Sebring. Brian jammed the car in reverse and slammed the gas - but the car was stalled. Brian tried frantically to get it restarted. One time, two time, three time. Finally the engine sputtered to life and Brian floored it in reverse, backing away just in time as the 18-wheeler tore the front bumper off of the car. Putting it back in drive, Brian turned back onto the road and hit the gas, and noticed that the semi truck had slowed down a bit. The only way he was going to make progress is if he passed it somehow. Putting the pedal to the carpet, the Sebring picked up again.

Going now at 130 mph, the Chrysler was screaming its head off and rattling like nobody's business. Zooming past the semi, Brian heard the diesel engine behind him start to wind up and give chase.

This wasn't going to be fun.

1:15 AM. Only 15 minutes had passed since Brian first encountered the roadbock, but it seemed like an eternity. Now he had just whizzed past an opposing 18-wheeler, which now was surprisingly catching up to him. Whomever was coming for him obviously had the budget to modify the pursuit cars (and trucks) for exceptional performance. The truck pulled alongside the battered Chrysler Sebring and reared up for a big hit. When it veered across the road, Brian paralleled its movements, dipping into the sand at the side of the road. He figured that the truck would stop at the side of the road, but it didn't. It kept going. Brian tried to turn the wheel more but only ended up going into a tailspin. The truck struck the front left fender of the car as it was spinning. The car hit a ditch and flew into the air, spinning ass over head as it did.

**Crunch.** A jarring impact and the roof caved in. The car rolled over, and none too gracefully. A hit from the right. From the bottom. From the left. Next the car caught some more air and barrel-rolled before landing on its wheels with a harder impact than the rest of the blows.

Brian struggled to regain his thoughts. He was fine, maybe a cut or two. But Stacy wasn't buckled in - she was hiding under the glove compartment! He looked over. She wasn't there. God damn it. He kicked the door open and looked around. No sign of her. He took a look at the Sebring. Totaled. No repairs would be neccessary, because no repairs would work. The car was a write-off. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, he had no clue what to do next. But a low rumble from behind him quickly resolved that problem.

He turned around to see the semi truck from before charging full steam like a 100-ton bull, diesel engine screaming. It bounced in a ditch, catching several feet of air and landing with a force that Brian could feel where he stood. Suddenly it occured to him that he standing like a dumbass watching death race at him, and jumped out of the way and crawled in the underbrush. The truck whizzed by, shredding the Chrysler with a massive explosion on impact. It continued down like a road train, eventually disappearing over the horizon. The experience was over.

His first concern was with Stacy. But he needed to get to a city first. Noticing a car driving down the road, Brian ran back and hailed it down.

"What's the nearest city to here?"

The woman inside glanced at him confusedly. "Wichita. Why?"

"I need a ride there. My car ex - er - broke down and I need to get a tow."

"Um, sure. Get in."

The woman dropped him off at the repair shop. Brian thanked her and she drove off. Now to get to the police department.

A little while later... "There's nothing you can do?"

"No, sir. That area out there is out of our district. I don't believe we can do anything until the state police are contacted. We'll get on it as soon as possible, but I can't make any promises."

Brian left the building dejectedly. After moping for a bit, he got up with a new resolve. Even if Stacy had gone missing, he still had to make it to the stadium and earn his paycheck. He didn't like it, but he had to go.

_April 25th, 6:30: Lawrence-Dumont Field._

Denton was fiddling with his fielding glove before the game in the clubhouse. He was getting worried. Brian was always punctual and had always made a point of being on time. But now he had missed pitching and batting practice, and Louis, the Wranglers' skipper, was none-too-happy about this supposed meteoric talent being so gregariously late.

As these thoughts drifted across his mind, a dusty, sweaty Brian kicked in the clubhouse door. Denton leapt from his perch near his locker.

"God DAMN, man! Where the hell have you been?"

Brian regarded him with a cold, steely glance out the side of his eye.

"I had transportation difficulties getting here. My equipment seems to have disappeared, though."

"Well, we do have a uniform for you, but we don't have a glove... Maybe you could borrow one of my spare ones for the game. How in the hell did you lose your equipment, though?"

Brian again gave Denton a stare.

"I told you, transportation difficulties. Now let's get suited up."

---------------------------------------------------------

_April 25th: Game time._

Denton and Brian hopped in the car and burned ass to Frisco for their game with the Roughriders. The ump was on the verge of calling a forfeit for the Wranglers when they dashed onto the field with all due speed and assumed their positions.

"They finally ----ing got here," Louis growled under his breath.

Panting from his short little sprint, Brian quickly assumed the position and tossed one or two warmup tosses. Time for action!

_Wichita Wranglers Frisco Roughriders_

Bill: Hey, there, I'm Bill Zoss and this is my collegue Kory Bowman. Kory?

Kory: Yeah, we're here in Kansas because we got booted here after an unfortunate on-the-air incident a couple of days ago.

Bill: Our top sports story is Brian getting pulled after just the 5th inning today in the Wranglers game. Here's Louis's take on it.

Louis: Brian seemed to be a little tuckered out from his goings-on earlier today. We already had a lead I knew our bullpen could hold, so I trusted them to take over and give Brian a bit more of a rest for his next start. I _trust_ his next start will be much better.

Kory: And, unfortanately, due to a lack of contact with our affiliates in Frisco, we cannot present you with highlights or a statline. So sorry, all, but this game was just a mess. Wranglers win a head-scratching "game that never happened", 3-0.

----------------------------------------------------------

_April 25th, 11:30 PM???_

The TV in the office clicked off.

"Excellent work, John. You managed to stifle the media coverage of the game quite nicely," an ominous voice said.

"Thanks, Boss. Since we weren't able to eliminate him directly, perhaps 'eliminating' him in the media will suffice until we can properly dispose of him."

"Excellent. It's a shame that his talent has to go to waste so."

"Yes, but he will be an excellent example to all those errant baseball prospects."

The Boss smiled. His understudy had only been here a year or two and had already grasped the concept.

"But, Boss, it's only been a month since the season began. How can we be so sure that this kid won't fizzle out?"

"He won't. He's from the same bloodline that produced Walter Johnson and Warren Spahn. He's got the stuff."

The understudy looked at Brian's papers.

"Hughes... Wasn't there a high-profile prospects for the Binghamton Mets that was 'eliminated' named Hughes?"

"Yes, James Hughes. He caught the baseball gene as well, although he chose the vocation of catcher. He too resisted us, but we got to him. He was weak."

"And Brian?"

"It seems that he's a tad quicker on the draw than dear old dad."

The understudy took a long, hard look at the research film on Brian. Yes, he was certainly gifted. But why did the Boss have such a fixation on him? There were at least 90 other prospects that didn't want to join 'The Organisation'. Why was Brian so special?

--------------------------------------------------------

_April 30th: Denton's Wichita apartment._

"So, they just LOST the highlights?" Brian inquired.

"It would certainly seem that way..." Denton replied.

"How in the hell..."

"They claimed that they had 'lack of contact with their affiliates.' That's BS. Networks usually get everything they can get their grubby paws on. If they didn't get the highlights from an affiliate, they would have gotten them somewhere else."

"What are you saying?"

"Somebody must have destroyed the tape of the game or something."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"It's a little convenient, no?"

"What?"

"First, Stacy disappears, then the tapes of our game."

"Hm... Now that you mention it..."

All the stories that Brian had been telling Denton of the "Boss" and how his dad's career had been cut short intrigued him. Someone (or some people) was trying to stem the flow of top prospects into baseball. Maybe that would explain how so many vaunted prospects had fizzled out over the years, way too many to just say "they didn't have the stuff." Somebody was making a concentrated effort to ensure that baseball's talent pool was shallow.

Brian noticed the look of pondering on Denton's face.

"It confuses me, too. Sometimes I just don't know what's happening."

Whatever. They had to get to their game.

------------------------------------------------------------

_April 30th 6:50 PM: Lawrence-Dumont Field_

Brian tossed his warmup pitches on the mound. The brief blackout he had last night had shaken him a little, but now he was ready to pitch. The loss of Stacy still hung heavily in his mind, but before he could go searching for her he had to get through this.

_Corpus Christi Hooks Wichita Wranglers_

Bill: Howdy, folks. Welcome to the Midwest Sports Channel's "Baseball!". Yes, real original name. Sue us.

Kory: No, don't. Anyway. Today the Wranglers wrangled with the Corpus Christi Hooks.

Bill: It wasn't exactly a shining moment in Brian's career. He appeared human as he blew a 3-0 lead to let the Hooks tie it up at 3, and he left in the 8th inning, after which the tie carried into the 10th before the Hooks scored the winner.

Kory: Something seems to be bothering Brian lately, like his focus isn't completely on the game.

Bill: Well, with fame comes distractions, Kory. Brian's probably been inundated with fame, being that he went from nobody to best person ever in the matter of a week, literally.

Kory: True. Denton hasn't slipped, though. Despite the fact that he only went 1-4 in the game, he still maintains an astronomical .367 batting average.

Bill: Yes, whatever's bothering Brian obviously hasn't gotten to Denton.

Kory: I smell Omaha for these guys.

Bill: I do too. Now, today the Kansas City Royals lost to the Indians, 5-2...

------------------------------------------------------------

_May 1st, 1:30 AM: Denton's Wichita apartment._

No leads to Stacy's location. None. NADA. She just disappeared into thin air. That coupled with blowing the game just a couple of hours ago had Brian awake with stress and worry.

"Goddamnit, man. You need sleep!" Denton stumbled into the room.

"That's easy for you to say. Your girlfriend didn't vanish into the 32nd dimension and you didn't blow a game for your team."

"Whatever."

Brian sat on the couch staring into space.

_May 1st, 12:00 PM: Wranglers' skipper's office._

"Denton, we have news for you. You're headed to Omaha," Louis proudly announced.

"What about Brian?"

"He still has to prove his worth. If he does good next game, they'll consider moving him up too."

"I guess that's fair enough."

_May 1st, 2:00 PM: Denton's Wichita apartment._

Brian had walked in from his workout when he noticed that Denton had packed his stuff. Uh oh.

"Denton, what's this about?"

"Well, I got a promotion to Omaha."

"..."

_May 6th, 6:50 PM: San Antonio Missions_

Brian had been seething for the past several days. Denton got the promotion while he didn't, and that was because he had chosen to suck at precisely the wrong time. Well, it was time to turn on the FIRE.

Bill: Welcome to the Midwest Sports Channel, I'm - aw, hell, you already know us, so let's skip the fancies.

Kory: Well, folks, if you knew anything about baseball, then I'm sure that you know this: Brian absolutely lit up the mound today. He was angry.

Bill: He should get angry more often. 7 and a third innings of strong ball, with 15 strikeouts and only 1 earned run.

Kory: His day only ended because he cursed at the umpire on Family Day. Bad day to do that...

Bill: Now, in Kansas City Royals news - what? mumble mumble Nevermind the Royals, folks. We have breaking news!

Kory: We do?

Bill: Yeah, we do! Brian got promoted to Omaha!

Kory: Really? Well, then, I gu -

_TV shuts off_

The Boss was furious. He kicked things and tossed things and spat on things. He was angry, to say the least. And his understudy was not exempt from this.

"YOU!" the Boss yelled, "You were supposed to end his career a month ago! Now if we take care of him a lot of people are going to be suspicious!"

"Don't panic, Boss. He still has to GET to Omaha, right?"

"Well, yeah..."

"So then he can get into a convenient car accident..."

"Oh, I see where you're going. Make it happen."

"Yes, Boss."


	3. Road to Omaha

_May 7th, 5:30 PM: Highway to Omaha._

Driving in the Midwest is no fun, Brian thought to himself as his rental Ford Taurus puttered down the highway. Today his emotions were a mixed bag. He could have struck out 20 if he had managed to not curse out the umpire. Such were the evils of emotions. As Brian drove along in his semi-conscious state, he suddenly noticed a big black 18-wheeler pulling up behind him.

It seemed innocent enough, but a quick glance at the front end of it as it started passing revealed that it was quite banged up - and there was a Chrysler emblem embedded in the grill! Brian put 2 and 2 together and got 4, which didn't help the situation at all, but then he got the brains to hit the brakes. As he did, the truck sped up. Now stopped, Brian was wondering what it was hoping to accomplish.

When the truck was half a mile down the road, he got his answer. Suddenly, it fishtailed out to the right and the trailer doors opened as it swung across the highway lanes. Four motorcycles and two jet black Crown Victorias filed out and started heading towards Brian as the semi truck completed its 180 and sped towards him as well.

Faced with such a situation, Brian did what any respectable, brave man would do: he ran the ---- away. He quickly turned the car around and punched it, but the anemic Taurus motor wasn't willing to respond. By the time he got up to speed, a motorcycle was already bearing down on him. To make matters worse, a thunderstorm was on the horizon. It didn't look like a happy one, either.

Brian drove off the road and turned the Taurus around while in the underbrush, coming back on the road behind the Sinister Seven and ran for dear life. Of course, they caught on to his scheme quite quickly and followed suit.

Now faced again with a motorcycle on the side, Brian feigned a ram to disconcert the driver. The motorcyclist wobbled, but took a "i'll take you down with me" attitude and tried to draw a Uzi before falling, and failed. He hit the ground hard and a Victoria giving chase - well, we'll just leave those details out. A cycle pulled ahead of him, and the two others were on the sides - a classic box-in maneuver, Brian thought, but it wasn't too smart to do that on a motorcycle against a car. He wiggled the car to the right, and to the left, and two more cyclists took a spill.

Through all of this, the semi truck was following at a medium distance, seemingly content not to press an attack. But now the two Victorias backed off and the semi rumbled up to the challenge. Despite his best efforts, Brian was unable to pull away. At approximately 20 feet behind him, though, the semi stopped advancing. What's he doing, Brian thought.

Then two machine guns opened up from the fenders and it was clear.

_May 7th, 5:45 PM: Highway to Omaha_

His first instinct was to duck, although that's not really too smart if you're driving. He swerved out of the way as the truck opened fire. They were like gatling guns on full spin. The bullets absolutely shredded the motorcyclist that was still in front of him before he swerved. Now the truck changed lanes to follow him.

Just as he was preparing to meet his maker, however, an orange and blue sedan pulled up alongside the truck and a white guy wearing sunglasses, appearing to be 35ish, popped out of the sunroof and produced an assault rifle, which he promptly unloaded into the side engine bay of the truck. Flames erupted from the side of the truck, but as a gunshot wound only angers a beast, the truck only grew more determined in its attacks. It tried to ram the orange and blue sedan as the man reloaded and shot out the truck's front right tire.

The truck still didn't let up, and sprayed bullets all over the road in a mad blitz to try and complete its objective. Somehow, the truck started accelerating and pulled up alongside Brian's Taurus to strike a direct blow, but Brian again heard rifle fire and the truck backed off with sparks flying from the disabled machine gun. The man in the sunroof dropped the rifle and disappeared into the car for a second before popping back up with two submachine guns. Behind him, one of the black Victorias tried to sneak a friendly nudge, but the man turned around and shot up the car but good, and it flew off the road. Another orange and blue sedan pulled up on the left side of the truck, and this time a big black man towered from the sunroof.

He promptly decorated the left side of the truck with bullets, and for the first time the truck faltered, its big diesel engine seizing for a second before restarting and again roaring with its former fury. It tried to ram the car on the right, then the left, but both cars paralleled its attacks. The driver of the truck kicked open the door and tossed a grenade at the car on the left, which bounced harmlessly off the car and ended up exploding underneath the trailer, blowing off the back two axles.

Now faced with several tons of dead weight, the driver cut the trailer loose, its wreckage scattering all over the road. The car on the left pulled up alongside Brian and the man in the sunroof yelled to him "Back off!". He did, and the truck driver, now preoccupied with the two orange and blue sedans, didn't seem to notice. A lightning bolt flashed in the sky and rain began to pour. Both men in the sunroofs retreated back into their cars, which had little hatches in the windows for pointing weapons out of. The truck was clearly wounded and wouldn't last much longer, but the driver was intent on squeezing every ounce of life from it. As they approached a cliff, the car on the right backed off to get behind the truck and cross over to the left side.

Now both cars opened fire on the truck, shredding both left rear wheels and sending it veering from side to side. One swerve too many, and the truck tore through the guardrail and began the long plummet to its doom. Brian stopped his car and observed. The truck hit the ground and disintegrated in a massive explosion. A little too massive. When the dust settled, Brian noticed that the truck was completely missing. A weird humming noise caught his attention. He looked up to see the cab of the former truck hovering in the air via the assistance of six mini-rocket engines where the wheels had once been.

What the **HELL?**

Brian stared in amazement at the flying truck. By the time he regained his wits about him, a military chopper flew up behind the truck. A rocket from a launcher flew towards the truck, but it bounced off. Lightning flashed in the sky once more as the truck unfurled two fresh gatling guns from the side hoods. Brian dove behind a rock as the truck and helicopter simultaneously opened fire on the two orange and blue cars who were now parked down a ways on the road. The bullets richoeted harmlessly off the cars' bulletproof exteriors.

The truck hovered over to the cliff road, and traded its hoverpods for traditional wheels again, apparently having gotten a second wind. Behind it, reinforcements in the form of black Victorias drove up. The truck's big diesel revved and it charged towards the two cars, with its new entourage. The cars remained still. Lightning flashed once again as the truck continued its bullcharge. Still, the cars did not move. As it drew near, the truck produced a rocket launcher from its sleeper cab and fired. One car blew up as the truck ran over another one.

Brian shrank. Why didn't they do anything? Didn't they notice the truck coming at them? As the truck driver sat gloating over his victory, a rocket flew over his head at the helicopter. It noticed it coming and ducked to the side, following the smoke trail to the point of origin. Nothing there. As the truck driver was watching this with interest, he heard his passenger side door open and turned around. The last thing he saw was the barrel of a Magnum pistol.

The big black man kicked the driver's body out of the truck. He investigated the dashboard, and found his mark. He pushed the button and the truck's wheels folded up and hoverpods took their place. Always a good sportsman, he fired a warning shot at the helicopter to warn him that the tables have been turned. The helicopter turned around, and there was a three-second period as the pilot registered what had happened, and at the same time the truck and helicopter started perforating each other with lead. The truck side-stepped and launched a missile at the helicopter. It tried to avoid it, but it was caught on the tail and spun down to earth, meeting a fiery end. The man landed the truck and turned it off, smiling at himself for what he'd just accomplished.

In the silence, though, he heard muffled crying from the sleeper cab.

As the fury of the 15-second battle which had just taken place finished registering itself in Brian's mind, he saw the man in the truck jump out with a girl in his arms. She looked a little familiar... Hmmmm... Light brown hair, green ey - STACY!

Brian lept up from his hiding place and started scrambling towards the two. Upon seeing him, the man suddenly drew a submachine gun in a state of overcaution, but when he saw who was running, he put it away. When Brian ran up, he handed Stacy off and inwardly smiled at the scene. Stacy had passed out, from a combination of relief and exhaustion. When Brian looked up to thank him, the man was gone. After carrying her back to the Taurus, Brian started it up again, shook his head to clear the thoughts of the melee that had just occured, and got back on the road.

After about 15 minutes, Stacy regained consciousness and sat up.

"Have a nice sleep?" Brian asked.

"You always were an -------," Stacy said in reply.

They shared a good laugh.

Five hundred feet behind the Taurus, a black Victoria was maintaining a stealthy tail.

"Are we ready?" his gunman asked.

"Yes. Yes we are."

The gunman leaned out the window and fired off a rocket.

The Taurus ahead of them exploded. Job well done.

_Date unknown, time unknown: Location unknown_

A bright white flash. Brian closed his eyes to block out the light and opened his eyes to see a nurse. He shook his head and looked around. He was in a hospital. His first thought was not for his own physical condition.

"Is Stacy ok?"

"That girl who was with you? Yes, she's fine. She was blown clear by the initial explosion and landed in some brush. A scratch here and a bruise there, but she's mostly fine.

Relief. Having established that his significant other was ok, his next question was obvious.

"What about me?"

"Well, you've lost a bunch of cartilage in your right knee. It'll be fine given a leg brace and some time to settle down."

"How long is 'some time'?"

"Oh, a couple of days."

Brian would live to pitch again!

--------------------------------------------

_May 9th, 2005, 3:30 PM: Omaha Royals stadium._

Step.

"Ow."

Step.

"Ow."

Step.

"Ow."

Walking for Brian had become exponentially more difficult since the explosion on his way here. He had lost most, if not all, of the mobility in his right knee. He tossed a couple of cautionary pitches, and although it hurt a bit, his filthy stuff was not all that affected by his condition. The benefit of not being a creature of habit, he thought to himself. He did not adhere strictly to a single type of pitch delivery, enabling him to change based on the situation, and because of this, a single disruption in the routine did not bring the whole enchilada crashing down a-la Aaron Heilman. Unfortunately, now his prospects of playing in the DH-less National League had all but disappeared, in all likelyhood.

Denton, who hadn't gotten much sleep since Brian's disappearance, nearly hit the moon when he walked onto the field to take some grounders and saw Brian pitching. He could have kissed him. In a manly, purely heterosexual way, of course. Of course. Er... Of course. Ahem. Let's get on with the story.

After the initial shock, the feeling was rage. Denton walked up and shoved Brian in the shoulder.

"What the ---- were you thinking? You were supposed to be ----ing here four ----ing days ago!"

"I know that Denton. Transportation difficulties."

Denton nodded and smiled. Then his expression turned sour again and he pushed Brian again.

"Transportation difficulties my skinny white ass. You said that the last time. Tell me, Brian, are you really dedicated to your baseball career?"

"As much as you are."

"Then why do you insist on reporting late to every single promotion that we've earned?"

"Listen, if I explained it to you, you wouldn't believe it."

"Try me."

_May 9th, 2005, 5:45 PM: Local restaurant._

"I don't believe it."

"I told you."

Brian had just wrapped up telling the facts of life to Denton, hovering truck and all.

"I have a question, Brian."

"What?"

"Have you been smokin' the ganja too much?"

Brian glowered at Denton. "You know I don't do drugs."

Denton raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, it was a joke, ok."

Stacy entered the resturant and sat down at the booth with Brian and Denton.

"Stacy, you're about 20 minutes late. What happened?" Brian asked.

"Transportation difficulties."

Brian and Denton both flopped forward and hit their heads on the table.

"What? The rental car agency wouldn't sign off on the car because they thought my insurance was fake."

Brian sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "Alright, now that we're all assembled, I believe it's time we went to the ballpark."

It was time to pitch.

------------------------------------------------

_May 10th, 2005, 2:30 PM: Location unknown._

Bill: And in Omaha Royals news, Brian appeared like a bolt from the blue from a disappearance, sporting a new right knee brace and a modified delivery, but still threw 8.2 innings of near-perfect ball before he was lifted for the closer to get the save.

Kory: Why didn't they just leave Brian in? It was only one more out.

Bill: You'd have to ask the O-Roys' skipper on that.

Kory: O-Roys?

Bill: Shut up.

Kory: Hahahaha - _TV shuts off_

The Boss turned off his TV, sighed, and suddenly tossed the remote at the TV with such velocity that it shattered in a shower of sparks. Happy? No, certainly not.

His understudy was the subject of his wrath.

"You! This is YOUR failure, here! You said that you would take care of him, and yet here he is capturing even more hearts! Do you know how many people are going to be suspicious if a major leaguer disappears?"

"Boss, I simply ordered the attack. I had no reason to believe that it would fail."

"The next time you fail, YOU DIE."

The understudy was taken aback.

"Yes, sir, but I highly doubt that there will be a repeat failure. I brought in a little extra assistance in getting rid of Brian this time."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Meet General Carville."

Carville entered the room. He was a hard man to miss, six foot six and 290 lbs of pure rough-and-tumble Texan. He had commanded Allied forces in the war against the Soviets in the late 1970's, during which he was apparently killed but brought back to life by a prolapse in the time stream. At the end of the Soviet War, he was replaced by an obscure commander whose name was not widely known but whose commanding abilities were second-to-none. Since then, he had become a mercenary, offering his superior military tact to the highest bidder. His only policy was never to sell his services to the Reds.

"Greetin's, Boss. You need a job done?"

"Yes, I do. I have a pain in the rear that I need eliminated. His name is Brian Hughes."

"Ah, yeah, that baseballey guy that's always in the news? Well, I got a plan for ya. This is guaranteed to kill him deader than a Texas armadilleh."

He opened his briefcase and unfurled papers.

"My god. This is brilliance! How much will this cost?"

"I'll be able to get the equipment off the black market. Simply hire me the men. I charge $220,000 per inning," Carville said with a wink.

-----------------------------------------------

_May 12th, 2005, 10:15 AM: Brian's Omaha apartment._

Brian rolled over in bed and fell off. He immediately sat back up, looked at the alarm clock, and jump-started with an obscenity. He got dressed with all the speed of Lindsay Lohan to a drug store upon finding out there was a new weight-loss pill.

He flew out the door and a piece of paper nailed to it caught his eye.

"Stop now," was all it said. Brian shrugged, dropped it and resumed running to the car, headed for a team meeting.

_May 13th, 2005, 7:30 PM: O-Royals ballpark._

Brian was lounging on the bench. Tomorrow he would be starting, against the Isotopes, since the Royals big wigs would be attending and Brian had a knack for recovering quickly. With his offspeed stuff, he could probably start every other day.

This game, the first in the series with the Isotopes, was a rough one. The starting pitcher, whom Brian had never seen before, strangely, was tossing inside on a lot of batters, a lot of close calls. He seemed to be honing his brushback skills.

Regardless, the game was 0-0 in the 6th inning when Denton came up to bat. The opposing pitcher threw way above Denton's head, earning not a cringe but a searing glare from the speedster. The next pitch was a 98 mph fastball - to the noggin. Denton crumpled to the ground as his helmet split into two pieces and flew off his head. The O-Royals' catcher, standing on first, charged the mound, clotheslining the pitcher.

Before Brian knew it, John, the O-Royals' skipper, was standing at the entrance of the dugout like a military man in the movies, motioning the crew to the field. Brian got caught up in the excitement and found himself on the field throwing punches. It was a good old fashioned bench clearing brawl. The crowd was loving it, going wild. The umpires were in the midst of the fracas, trying to break up the fights.

Yes, it was your typical bench-clearer.

Until the pitching coach fell dead with a stab wound in the chest.

The fighting immediately stopped and both teams stepped back in horror at the dead body and figure hunched over it. The man looked up. Brian recognised him... That face... er... Aha! He was the pitcher! The pitcher looked up with an arrogant "You can't touch me now" look on his face, and pulled a bloody knife out of the pitching coach's body.

"Who else wants some?" he demanded of the players. The fans had gone from egging on a barnburner to screaming in horror at a brutal murder of a man in public.

Several vigilantes in the crowd lept from the stands. The ring of players around tried to keep them from the madman for their own safety, but one girl managed to get through.

"You -------!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. She ran for the murderer. With scarcely a blink, he grabbed her, whipped her around, and slit her throat. Her body fell on top of the pitching coach's.

"I came here for Brian Hughes. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?" the man demanded. Brian stepped foward.

"What do you want?" Brian asked in a voice that managed to hide his perturbation.

"You dead," the man answered. He reached out to grab Brian, but suddenly he was blindsided by a figure moving so fast he was a blur.

As the two men wrestled, Brian couldn't make out who his life-saver was. As the other figure emerged victorious from the struggle and tossed the knife safely out of reach of the attacker, Brian saw who it was. It was Denton, with a trail of blood running down his face from where he was hit with the fastball. He picked up the murderer by the collar, called him some naughty words, and put him out of a commission with a huge right hook.

He gloated over his victory for a couple of seconds, looked around at the other players, and smiled.

"He hit me in the head," he said.

The players shared a laugh of relief. Brian was in the dugout by that point, rehydrating himself after that standoff. A quick thump on the head and he was out cold. A big burly figure quickly dragged him off into a jet black Crown Victoria.

"Do you have the package?" a voice asked over the secure connection.

"Yes, I do. The other operative failed. He's been apprehended in all likelihood."

"Well, we can bail him out, I'm sure."

"If they offer him bail."

"They will if I can pull any strings. Anyway, now, bring the package back here. Make sure he's knocked clean out."

"Will do, sir." The burly man took off his mask to reveal the face of - oops! We're all out of time!

------------------------------------------------------

_May 14th, 2005, 9:00 AM: Location unknown._

"Jesus Christ, Zimmer, you really did a number on him."

"My orders were simply to take him alive. You didn't specify how close to dead you would tolerate."

Brian heard the sound of footsteps walking away. He shook his head and opened his eyes. He looked over at a doorway to see a figure walking away.

"Well, good morning to you, boy. The Boss just wanted to check up on you."

Brian looked to his other side and saw the fat face of Don Zimmer, and was inflamed with rage.

"Why you little...!"

He reached up to punch him, only to find that he had been restrained by belts.

"Now now now, anger gets you nowhere." Zimmer smiled an arrogant smile.

It was quickly erased when Brian, straining with all his might, snapped one of the belts and got an arm free to start strangling him.

"gack! Security!"

A handful of guards quickly subdued Brian and re-restrained him.

"Hoo-ey, we got a live one here," Zimmer mused to himself as he walked away.

**NARRATOR:** Will our fair hero escape from danger? Will he ever see his family again? Will he ever pitch? And for godsakes, when is he gonna ---- Stacy? See in the next issue of - _KERBLAM_ Ow...

**TopGear:** For god's sake, SHUT UP.

---------------------------------------

_May 14th, 2005, 11:30 AM: Location Unknown_

Brian lay seething with anger at being restrained. It didn't help that Zimmer came in to laugh at him. Eventually he settled down enough to carry casual conversation.

"So, where am I?"

"You're stupid if you think I'm going to tell you."

Brian blinked. He's lucky I'm tied down, he thought.

Eventually another person entered the room. The guards whispered behind his back and giggled at him. He turned around and gave them an incredulous glare, right before which they snapped back to their guard stances. He turned back around to Brian.

"I am Brian Cashman. I run the day-to-day activities of the Organisation."

Brian sneered.

"Oh, you're Steinbrenner's -----?"

Cashman, in a moment of fury, backhanded Brian across the face.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to the person who decides whether or not you live or die."

"I speak only truth."

"---- you."

"Hey, there's no need for language."

Cashman seethed. He pulled out a handgun and pointed it at Brian's forehead. A voice caused him to turn around.

"Now now now, Cashman. If you kill him, what will happen?"

Cashman's eyes widened and he knelt.

"Steinbrenner!"

"What're you gonna do on your knees, Cashman?" Brian asked.

Cashman turned around and glared at Brian. "You've got quite a mouth."

"It was a gift from my dad."

Steinbrenner laughed. "I like this kid. It's too bad that he doesn't want to join the Organisation."

Brian said in a quiet voice, "Let me go."

Steinbrenner chuckled and lifted a hand. "That's not within my power."

A nameless aide ran up and whispered in Steinbrenner's ear. "The Boss wants me, eh? Sorry our meeting had to be so short, Brian, but I must go."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "He isn't the Boss?"

Cashman guffawed. "Of course not. He has VIP status, but he ain't the Boss."

--------------------------------------------------------

_May 14th, 2005: 11:40 AM: Location Unknown_

Cashman sat down. "You know, it's too bad there's no way you can escape. It would have been fun to chase you down and kill you."

"Oh, but there is a way I can escape."

"Really? What's that?"

"It's a secret."

Cashman's eyes narrowed. "You will tell me."

"No, I won't."

"Whatever."

"Ok, I guess I'll escape now."

"What? No, YOU WILL NOT."

"Watch me."

"... Guards!"

"Here I go!"

The guards drew their rifles.

"You're ready?"

Trigger fingers tightened, ready to shoot.

"Shazam."

Brian lowered his head, then brought back up and looked at everybody in the room with a grin and a squint.

"Oh, you little ----HEAD!" Cashman screamed, and threw a temper tantrum.

One of the guards smirked. "He deked you right out of your loafers, boss."

Cashman gave the guard a searing glare. An alarm went off.

"Alert, intruders detected. Alert, intruders detected. Alert..."

Cashman sighed. He gave Brian the fifty-billionth dirty look, and walked up.

"Little ----er."

With a pistol whip, he knocked Brian out.

_Date, time, and location: unknown._

Brian jerked awake. The first thing that came to mind was that he actually could jerk. He looked around. He was back in his apartment. On his stomach was a note.

"You owe us two now. :) - CF and MP"

Interesting.

--------------------------------------------------------

_May 15th, 9:00 AM: Location unknown_

"He got away?"

"Yes, sir."

"YOU BUMBLING IDIOT!"

Steinbrenner looked down, shamed. He wasn't used to being berated.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"Get out of my site, you impotent son of a silly person!"

Steinbrenner left with his tail between his legs.

Bud Selig was walking in and noticed George. He nudged an aide and whispered, "The Boss is the only person I know who could bring Steinbrenner down like that."

_8:30 PM: Omaha Royals ballpark._

Brian wiped the sweat off his brow and gazed into the crowd for a bit. In the box seats behind home plate, he saw the Royals excecutives sitting there, evaulating the talent and their potential usefulness for the franchise. He reared back and lobbed a knuckler. The batter's eyes danced all over before he stumbled over himself swinging clumsily and missing by about a yard. The O-Royals crowd cheered as the executives nodded in approval. Excellent indeed. 7 innings of the game were now complete, and Brian had compiled an outstanding 12 K's and had allowed only 2 hits.

He went and sat in the dugout as they prepared to bat. Brian, being a pitcher, did not have to hit. He sat back. The first batter went down without much of a fight, but the other vaunted prospect of the Royals organisation, Denton, was up. It was his game back after being nailed in the head by a hitman several days before, and he was pinch-hitting for the 2nd baseman. The crowd went nuts as he dug in.

A fastball whizzed by. Ball one. Curveball. Strike one. A half-assed forkball. Ball two.

It was then that Denton got a meatball. Known primarily as an "Ichiro-type" hitter, Denton typically slapped hits, he didn't take big cuts. But he couldn't let this one go by. He swung with all his might, which was quite a lot, and the ball sailed well over the short right field porch for a solo jack. The crowd was first stunned by this display of power, then went wild. When Denton walked back into the dugout, the crowd demanded a curtain call and recieved it.

2 innings later, Brian was facing his last batter of the game. Winning 1-0, he couldn't afford to give up anything. Strike one. This could be it. Strike two. oh boy oh boy oh boy! STRIKE THREE! 16 strikeouts and a CG shutout. Surely he'll get called up now, right? He glanced over at the boxes and saw the executives rubbing their chins in thought.

-------------------------------------------

_May 15th, 10:00 PM: O-Royals clubhouse._

Brian was lounging, watching the recap of his game today. He kind of wished Kory and Bill would focus on the game rather than bickering. He and Denton sat around for a bit waiting for the news. zzzzzzz... wha? I'm awake! Honestly! zzzzzzz... snort eh? Oh! The executives are entering the clubhouse!

Brian and Denton tensed up, waiting for the news.

"Brian, we have news for you."

Brian could barely contain his excitement.

"You've been traded."

He fell off his seat.

"Why?"

"We felt it to be in the best interest of the organisation."

He was speechless.

"To who?"

"The Yankees."

**OO**


	4. Yankees'd

_May 15th, 11:15 PM: Brian's apartment._

Brian slammed the door behind him. Stacy perked up from the couch. "I watched the game on TV. What's the word?

Brian tossed the crumpled official notice of trade at her and kept walking without a word. It wasn't so much the fact that he was traded to the Yankees, but that he had already had several "disputes" with their management. This was going to be FUN.

_May 17th, 2005, 4:30 PM: Top of the Empire State Building._

Brian stared longingly out towards Queens. There was Shea Stadium, right there. That's where he wanted to play. His life's dream. Then he turned to the Bronx, with Yankees Stadium sitting near the sewer of the Harlem River. That was the anti-thesis of his life's dream. Tomorrow, he would be wearing navy-blue pinstripes, not royal blue as he wished. He took out his trade notice and tossed it off the building. Oh well. Whichever way he put it, he was making his major league debut tomorrow. He'd much rather that he would do it several miles away, but whatever. That's the way the cookie crumbles.

_May 18th, 2005, 5:00 PM: Yankees clubhouse._

Brian treaded carefully. It wasn't so much that he was scared of the fact that he was going to debut in one of the most pressure-packed media markets ever, but he wanted to avoid drawing any negative attention from Gary Sheffield. Man, that guy is scary. Brian slinked through and was in the locker room getting his stuff ready when a voice almost caused him to jump through the ceiling.

"HEY!"

Brian turned around nervously to see the 6'0", 215 lb frame of Gary Sheffield glaring right at him.

"h-h-h-h-hello?"

"Are you that new pitcher guy?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You look more like a bat-boy. You were a lot bigger on TV."

"So are you."

Gary's expression suddenly softened a bit and he offered his hand. "I'm sure you know me, so no introductions are needed. A-Rod and Jeter are off doing god-knows-what somewhere, so you'll have to wait to meet them."

"That's ok, I'm not exactly a fan of them."

"Why's that?"

Brian cautiously looked around the clubhouse, motioned Gary to move closer, and dug a little bit into his bag to reveal a Mets t-shirt.

"Ooooh. I see now. Then you shouldn't have any problems with that guy over there."

Gary pointed over Brian's head. He looked over, saw Al Leiter, and almost squealed. He quickly regained his composure.

"Uh, yeah," was the only thing he could manage to say. Gary chuckled, and then his cell phone rang. He checked it.

"----ing hell," he picked it up, "I told you I didn't want to be ----ing interviewed by you! No! I won't! You ----ing moron! The next time you call, imma twist your ----ing neck, you ----head!"

Brian shrunk into his locker a bit when Gary hung up and turned around.

"What?"

_May 18th, 6:30 PM: Yankees Stadium._

The crowd was roaring, the cameras were rolling, the people at home were watching, and the analysts were chattering away. Yet, Brian couldn't shrug off the feeling that it was all wrong. He looked up into the owner's box to see nobody. Usually Steinbrenner's glowering eye took in all that happened at Yankees Stadium. Perhaps he was off meeting with the Boss.

Brian's first pitch was a knuckleball. It was a strike, but it still sailed by Posada, who didn't seem to have much experience with the knuckler, much less one that twisted as much as Brian's. Six innings and 10 K's later, it didn't amount to diddly squat as the Yankees and Devil Rays were mired in a 1-1 tie. Brian checked the man on second and threw a curveball ----! It got away from him... It's a sitting duck - wait, no, now it's a meteor into the upper deck right field. 3-1 Devil Rays. Brian's head sank and he stared at the ground. Lovely. After the inning was over, Brian whipped his glove into the dugout as he sauntered in.

9th inning. Brian had taken his licks and for whatever reason was still in the game, despite a tie game, 3-3. He checked the man on second, and as a thought came to mind he stepped off the rubber. This is the exact same situation he faced in the 7th inning. Shaking the feeling of deja vu from his head, Brian threw a curveball - god DAMN, he hung this one too... It's a sitting duck! A BIG SWING! whoa nelly! The breeze! Brian whipped around to see the scorched ball. Where was it? He couldn't see it! The crowd went wild, and confused, Brian turned around to see Posada holding the ball. Strikeout! Brian about melted on the mound, then stumbled over to the dugout.

Bottom of the 9th, now. How long would this game last? Gary Sheffield provided the answer. First pitch on the inning. KABOOM! You could hear the seams tearing off the ball as it rocketed into the night air to end the game. Brian had won his major league debut with a CG and 13 K's. Good stuff, good stuff.

_May 26th, 4:00 PM: Brian's house._

Ever since Brian had ended up on the Yankees, the attacks on him had ceased. So it was that with grand occasion he celebrated his birthday. The details are not important. Let it just be known that much fun was had. Much. Nyahahahaha.

_May 27th, 8:00 PM: Fenway Park._

Bottom of the 6th. Brian was pitching in another of baseball's "cathedrals", Fenway Park. Understandably, him being a Yankees player of high caliber, he was not welcomed warmly by the Red Sox Nation. He walked out onto the mound to boos and hisses. It's amazing how loud that park could get despite being so small. But the man who was walking up to the dish drew exactly the opposite reaction. He lumbered to the left side of the plate and dug in.

The Fenway PA system boomed, "Now batting: the designated hitter, David Ortiz."

Brian glared at Posada for the sign. Fastball inside. Alright. Brian set himself, wound and let go. But he held on to the ball just a tad too long... THUNK! Beanball. Whoopsie doodles. Oh well, no biggy. The Yanks were up 7-1, there was no urgency.

But Ortiz didn't like it. He started tossing some words Brian's way. Brian, being a little hot-headed himself, gave him some choice words back. Ortiz stopped on his way to first, and he and Brian exchanged a glare.

Then Ortiz charged.

Brian wasn't gonna take no guff. The instant Ortiz started for the mound, Brian tossed off his glove and charged right back. The two met in an earth-shaking collision that saw the smaller Brian using momentum to grapple Ortiz to the ground. Having laid out Ortiz, Brian got up and looked up to see a flurry of dreadlocks approaching - Manny.

Brian was so settled in his role as a Yankee that without even thinking, he raised his fist and clocked him in the face. Manny stumbled back, hand on his cheek and an expression of horror in his face, and the two teams converged on the pitcher's mound.

This time, without the threat of stabbity death befalling a pitching coach, Brian was dealing out pain to all who wanted it. He didn't even know whose head he was bashing when he was blindsided. Rolling back into an upright position, Brian looked up to meet eyes with Johnny Damon. He lunged and the two locked horns in a test of strength. Now, Brian may be a short fat white guy, but he has afterburners that kick in when he needs them. Having stayed Damon's hand, Brian broke loose his right hand and hooked him in the gut. Damon stumbled back.

The brawl had steadily moved over towards the vistor's dugout, and Jeter and Bellhorn were even having a little exchange of words inside said dugout. At this point Brian and Nixon were toe-to-toe. A punch here, a knee there, and Brian shoved Nixon away in a second wind.

Nixon took one or two steps before arms appeared around his neck and knees. Then he was lifted off the ground. It was Gary, carrying Nixon in a reverse-fireman's carry. Appearing to be inspired slightly by professional wrestling, Gary yelled out as loud as he could and the veins in his neck bulged. He spun the helpless Nixon about before tossing him head-over-shoulders into the stands. Brian's eyes widened. As Gary admired his accomplishment, Ortiz came over and tossed Gary into the stands for good measure, and fans swarmed him.

Brian may be a Mets fan, but he still stands up for his teammates, even if they are on a team he hates. Brian lept into the stands and beat back some drunk fools that were trying to club Sheffield. But not everybody was drunk. One man who seemed to have his wits about him snuck up and whapped Shef in the back of the head with a souvenier bat. Upon witnessing this, various Yankees dropped the conflicts with their respective Red Sox combatants and jumped into the stands. T'was a barnburner.

After three more minutes of pure melee, security finally managed to intervene and apprehend those fans responsible for exacerbating the situation. Brian climbed back onto the field and sat down on the pitcher's mound. He felt his right temple and brought his hand back to see blood.

"That was some crazy ----," Brian thought out-loud half to himself.

"That's a bit of an understatement," Torre chimed in, who happened to be standing nearby. "I'll be damned if this isn't the worst sports fight in modern history. Worse than Detroit."

"What about soccer riots?" Brian asked.

"Soccer?"

"Never mind."

Selig himself personally handed down the order for the game to be called.

So, the Yankees won a riot-shortened game by the score of 7-1. Sports analysts would have a field day with this one.

_May 28th, 6:40 AM: Brian's house._

Something compelled Brian to wake up. He woke with a start, and noticed a piece of paper falling off his chest.

"Your life is in danger again. Beware of the player 'Jari Afinogenov' on the Devil Rays in the June 1-3 series. He is an agent of the Organisation. - MP and CF"

-----------------------------------------------

_June 1st, 1:00 PM: LaGuardia International Airport._

After a little breakfast in bed with Stacy (take that for what you will) Brian hoofed it over to LaGuardia to board the team flight to Tampa to take on the D-Rays in combat. On the 2nd, he would be pitching. He took out the note he found on his chest four days ago. Jari Afinogenov, eh. Not every day a Ruskie tries to play baseball. Couldn't they have made it a little less obvious? The flight there was uneventful. I guess during this whole thing they never thought to sabatoge the jets.

_June 1st, 6:30 PM: Tropicana Field._

Brian sat in the dugout wearing his cute little pitcher's jacket. Game time was on. Pitching today would be Mike Mussina. The leadoff hitter was the man of the hour - Jari Afinogenov. Coming up to the box, Brian caught him sneaking furtive glances into the Yankees' dugout. They REALLY couldn't have trained this guy better?

It was a non-game, Yankees winning 11-0.

_June 2nd, 4:15 PM: Tropicana parking lot._

Brian parked his rental car, made sure it was locked, then hoisted his bag over his shoulder and started trotting to the Diaper Bowl, as the locals tended to call Tropicana. A familiar voice called out to him.

"BRIAN! Over here!"

Brian looked in the direction of the voice, dropped his bags, and gaped. It was Mrs. Mac, his chemistry teacher from junior year of high school.

"What the - how the -"

"I know what you're thinking. I have a summer home down here."

"Well, that explains my first question. Why are you here?"

"The commercials for the game advertised you playing, so I figured I'd see the game and watch you pitch. I got good tickets, too. Only a couple rows behind home plate."

"Uh, thanks..."

A few more pleasantries and they were on their merry ways.

----, Brian thought to himself. If stuff starts to pop off tonight at Trop, she's going to witness it firsthand. He walked into the stadium, got changed into his BP uniform and walked on field - and nearly died at who he saw.

--------------------------------------

_June 2nd, 4:20 (LOL) PM: Tropicana Field._

"DENTON!"

The 7'0" frame of Denton was unmistakable. Denton turned around and gave the "homie nod". Brian ran up and they started talking.

"How the hell did you end up here?"

"After you were traded, I threw a hissy fit and started to hold out for an obscene amount of money, so they dumped me off to Tampa, after which I stopped my hold out."

"That's a good way to get traded."

"It worked."

As the conversation turned, Brian began to feel dirty on the inside. Here one of his friends was playing for a franchise that was going nowhere fast, and he's on one of the storied franchises of the MLB. It wasn't right. Soon team drills started, Denton and Brian said their goodbyes and rushed off to their respective sides.

Gary noticed the somber manner of Brian and decided to interject. He is, after all, the leader of this team.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Eh, I just don't feel too good right now."

"Why's that?"

"You see that really big guy over there? The tall thin one?"

"How could I NOT see him?"

"Well, he's my friend. We played together on the Royal's farm system all the way up through Triple A. It just doesn't feel right that I end up playing for the Yankees and he ends up playing in the Diaper Pail."

"Uh, well... I'm not too good at the psychological stuff."

"Meh, that's ok. I'll get over it."

_June 2nd, 5:45 PM: Game time Tropicana._

The leadoff hitter was Denton. Brian tried not to vary his routine: a staredown, wind-up, pitch. After getting the count to 0-2, Brian went with his money pitch, the knuckler. Denton waited patiently then ROCKETED the ball down right field, denting the wall near the foul line, and chugged merrily along to 2nd base.

Next stepped - oh boy! Afinogenov. Now Brian had to contend with a potential attacker at home and a thief on 2nd. First pitch was fastball, however slow it might be, Jari whiffed on it. Brian checked Denton on 2nd. Alrighty. BIG curveball - and Denton's stealing third! Posada rocketed to third, but A-Rod fumbles it and the ball rolls away. Denton continues to home plate as A-Rod tossed to home. Posada gets it, and goes to apply the tag - but Denton ain't there! Denton had lept into the air and was soaring over Posada, landing on his hands and rolling over home plate to be called safe. The 100 fans in the Diaper Pail went wild at this Top Ten play.

Next pitch was a rare slider from Brian, slammed right up the middle only to be picked off by Brian hisself.

8th inning and Brian was leaning on the dugout fence, poised to take the loss 1-0. Denton had really made a psychological impact with his Superman impersonation to deflate the Yankees' spirits, it seemed. Jari came up to bat. A swing and a miss - DUCK! He let go of the bat!

Brian dove for his life as the lumber flew into the dugout and clocked the assistant trainer in the head. The game was delayed as he recieved medical attention and was transported away. Brian got back up and glanced at Jari. Nice try, he thought.

Sadly, Brian did take the loss, 1-0. Going back to his hotel room, Brian spotted Jari in the lobby. Jari did the same with Brian. Brian saw Jari pull something out of his jacket and dove for his life again.

A gunshot sounded.

--------------------------------------------------

_June 2nd, 9:10 PM: Generic Tampa Bay hotel._

After the gunshot rang out, a woman screamed and mass chaos ensued. In the confusion, Brian slipped out and skidded to a stop in front of his car. He unlocked it, jumped in, and floored it out of the parking lot, the little Ford Fiesta making its tires squeal. He turned hard onto the street, bringing the car onto two wheels before he counter-steered and caused it to crash back down.

Strangely, the streets were relatively empty. Hmmm... What could be made of this? Brian didn't have much time to think as he was flanked by jet-black sedans on either side of him. Deja-vu all over again. A man leaned out the front-passenger door of the left car and produced a P90. Brian's eyes went wide at the sight. A P90 could shred a puny little car such as his with little effort. Hell, Solidus destroyed several Metal Gears with one clip. Brian prepared for the end. Suddenly, there was an explosion of blood and the man, now headless, slumped and fell out of the car. Brian could see the driver looking in shock at where his partner just was.

Looking back, Brian saw another orange-and-blue sedan, which he remembered from the battle on the Omaha freeway. A tall black man was standing out of the sunroof, toting a PSG-1. Good stuff, I say. Brian's momentary feeling of relief was quickly dissipated when an attack helicopter flew overhead and turned around to face him. The black sedans backed off as the helicopter steadied its crosshairs. Two missles were let go to fly. In a desperate move, Brian swerved the car to the left. The missiles whizzed by, but the Fiesta was getting quite tippy...

CF noticed Brian's car swerving on the road. Hope he can hold it... ----. The Fiesta finally went arse over head and rolled over violently multiple times before depositing itself in a newspaper stand, upside down. He told MP to stop the car and jumped out, pulling the unconscious Brian from the wreckage and tossed him in the backseat. As he got back into his front seat, he heard helicopter rotors. The copter was coming up behind him again.

"----! The chopper's found us again! Do we have anything to take it down?"

MP took a look at the car's radar. "Yes we do. Just calm down. It'll be handled."

A sonic boom shook the earth, and a shower of glass rained down on the streets as windows all around the city shattered. The helicopter pilot looked all around, baffled at this phenomena. Suddenly, he was standing at the Pearly Gates.

CF looked back to see the flowering explosion, and the fighter jet that zoomed through it. It climbed in altitude going straight up before coming back down and going down the other way.

"DW here," the radio crackled. "I don't see anything else - holy ----! They must have gotten wind of us, MP, because they're deploying jets too!"

MP grimaced. "You can handle 'em for a couple of minutes while we get back to base to try and provide backup."

Brian sat up in the back, still groggy from the whoopsy-doodles he had with the car earlier.

MP turned around, "ah, you're awake. Can you fly a fighter jet?"

Brian gave him a dazed and confused look in return.


	5. The Art of War

_June 2nd, 9:20 PM: Rebellion base._

The orangeblue sedan drove steadily into a parking garage. It stopped at the back end wall, where MP tapped a few buttons on the sunlight visor. It opened up and MP floored it into the base.

"DW, are you still ok?"

"They've chased me to over St. Petersberg. Aw, crap, they have ground reinforcements in the parking lot of Tropicana. I'm going to lure these guys back over Tampa. Be ready, guys."

MP turned to Brian. "You didn't answer my question before. Can you fly a fighter jet?"

Brian gave him an incredulous glare. "I'm a fatass pitcher, not a fighter jock."

MP glanced at CF. "Alrighty, then. Tell you what. Go back out in the car with CF. You'll drive, he'll shoot."

The car caught some air time flying out of the parking garage. Brian looked around. The skies above Tampa and St. Petersberg were alive with aerial battle. Fighter jets and choppers whizzed here and there. The mud battle was no slouch either. Brian floored it, dodging flaming hunks of metal. A roadblock of black cars lay ahead. CF leaned out the window and produced a P90. He unloaded at one of the cars, which exploded into the air.

"Go under it!"

Brian looked over. "Under the ----ing explosion?"

"YES!"

Bullets bounced off the car's exterior as it sped through the flames. CF reloaded and tapped Brian on the shoulder. "Turn around and face them. I gotta finish this roadblock off."

Brian did as he told. CF leaned out the window again, aimed his P90 and Brian watched as one-by-one the cars disappeared in orange mushrooms.

"Alright, I got them. Go go go!"

Now rumbling down the streets once more, Brian noticed something out the side of his eye and slammed on the brakes as a flaming car sped past. Whoops. A black fighter jet zoomed by overhead and spotted the car.

"----!" CF swore. "Find us some cover, I need to formulate a plan. Brian did as he was told, crashing through a storefront and parking the car inbetween some cash registers. CF gave him a weird look.

"What? At least they won't think to look for us here."

"Ok, here's the plan. I go out there, fire off a flare. When the jet notices us, drive back out and in the same direction as the jet, so I can get a clear lock on it with the rocket launcher.

CF walked outside, looked up, and cursed as he dove back into the store with a fighter jet whizzing by MERE FEET over the ground.

Brian couldn't help grinning. "Didn't work?"

"Shut the hell up."

-----------------------------------------------------

_June 2nd, 9:30 PM: Random storefront in Tampa._

"They've got to have some ----ing badass pilots to fly that low."

Brian was now sitting on the hood of the car, watching as CF paced around the store with a limp.

"Hey, are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, I am. I just walk like this."

A loud crash and boom caused the building to shake and pieces of plaster to fall from the ceiling.

"Sweet Jesus!"

Brian jumped off the hood and ran out to see the wreckage of black and purple chopper sitting in the street, with a man hobbling out. CF ran out to him and helped out of the wreckage.

"What's your codename?"

"AG."

Brian raised an eyebrow as CF and AG passed. "Couldn't you think of better codenames?"

"Hey, we're limited to what the dumbass author gives us!"

Hey! You will NOT speak to me like that! I determine your fate, you jackass.

"Pffff, whatever."

You want me to drop a jet on your ass right now?

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry."

I thought so. Anyway. The three went back into the storefront, where the car radio was ringing with a distress signal. Cliff lept in, hanging in the car by the window and picked up the radio.

"What's the problem?"

A weak voice answered on the other side. "It's FT. My jet got shot down near Raymond Jones Stadium."

The radio went dead. Brian spoke up, "Isn't it Raymond James?"

"No ----, Sherlock. We need to get there, but we still have the deal with that jet on our tales."

Brian thought for a minute. "This car is durable, right?"

"It's indestructible unless hit with an insane amount of force or an explosive."

Brian nodded and smiled.

A minute later, the car flew out of the storefront, and drove down the street. When the jet swooped in for the kill, it swerved and smashed through the front door of another store and kept driving. After driving a couple of aisles, it went back onto the street and drove across it into a restaurant. It drove all the way back to the kitchen and burst out the back door into an alley. It was here that the throttle was floored. The engine roared and the tires squealed as it thundered for the street. Turning onto a major street, the fighter pilot, now growing quite tired with cat-and-mouse, flew behind the car for the kill. As he was steadying his crosshairs, CF popped out from the trunk with a missile launcher and fird off with little hesitation.

Flames burst out from the jet and it dropped onto the freeway. Still carrying quite a bit of momentum, it skidded up behind the gang in the car.

"ARE YOU STUPID?" CF nearly screeched. "It's right ----ing behind us!"

Brian swerved, scraping the freeway barrier as he tried to align the car.

"Well, I could have seen it if you closed the trunk."

"Oh."

"Just what is this car, anyway? It has a ----load of power, it seems."

"It's a 1996 Chevy Caprice with rear-wheel drive and a 1200 horsepower twin turbo engine."

"Well, it doesn't quite feel like it has 1200 horsepower..."

CF flipped a switch.

"Floor it."

The engine went from a gentle thumming to an earth-shattering roar and the Caprice popped a wheelie. Brian looked at the speedometer. Already approaching 200 mph. Past 200, and still accelerating quite fast. Jesus Christ. The buildings on the side of the freeway became a blur as the car thundered down the highway. A roadblock appeared up ahead.

"Don't worry about them. With the momentum we're carrying, the car's invincibility won't be compromised."

300 mph. Brian steeled himself for impact. Meanwhile, at the roadblock itself, the agents were talking amongst themselves. One of them gazed out and saw something.

"Hey, Bill. Do you see that?"

"See what?"

A sudden wind blew by and a car exploded. Bill looked behind him to see something.

"That?"

"What?"

The something couldn't be seen anymore.

The Caprice flew down the highway. AG was in the backseat. "There's the stadium!"

Brian hit the brakes, and the car slowed down to "only" 150 mph an hour as it pulled a stoppie. CF switched off the extra power.

"Well, there's FT's jet."

Black sedans converged all around it.

"----."

"What do we do now, CF?" Brian asked.

"Hurry." CF switched back on the power.

------------------------------------------------

_June 2nd, 9:45 PM: Raymond James Stadium._

The inhuman Caprice barreled down the street to the downed jet, painted in dark blue and gray. CF pressed a button to make a machine gun pop out the right fender, then took a yolk and fired, cleaning up the low-level spooks. FT limped out, apparently injured by his jet's encounter with terra firma.

"You alright, FT?"

"Enough to walk."

"Alright, BH, we're getting full up, we'll probably need to get back to base."

A low rumbling sound caught the attention of all in the car.

"What's that?" Brian asked cautiously. CF looked to the right and his eyes widened. An entire train of 18 wheelers was headed in their direction. He tapped Brian on the shoulder while still looking out the window.

"Uh, BH?"

"Yeah?"

"Move our asses out of here."

"Why - oh."

The car pulled a quarter-donut and began speeding down the street towards the rebellion base. Uh oh, that wasn't going to work. Another envoy was heading in their direction. Brian tried to turn to the left. Nope. Right? No sir bobbity.

"---- ---- ----!" CF bellowed. He grabbed the radio. "God damn it, Piazza, what are we going to do?"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Piazza?"

CF looked back at Brian and then closed his eyes with exasperation at the realisation of what just happened.

"The cat's out of the bag, Mike. We might as well abandon our codenames now."

"Whatever, Floyd. Are Galarraga and Thomas ok?"

"Yeah, they're fine, but I don't know for how much longer. We're branched on all sides by the Organisation's heavy cavalry."

"Rest easy, buddy. I'll have Johan fly a freight chopper over there to pick you guys up."

"There's no time for that!"

"Then find a way out, dammit. Brian can probably figure something out, remember, according to our intelligence reports, he's the smartest MLB player in history."

Brian was floored. "I am?"

"Yes, you are. Your IQ is 135, compared with 120 for the next highest. The average is something like 105, but Canseco and Rocker probably bring that down a couple notches..."

Brian, now filled with confidence, looked around the blockaded intersection. There was a mall on their front-left. Har HAR! A sinister voice rang out from the head rig. "We have you surrounded. Surrender now and your death will be quick and painless."

Brian floored the gas. Kingda Ka had nothing on this car. Bursting through the glass doors of the mall, Brian switched off the extra power so he could maintain a reasonable speed. However, the Organisation was one step ahead of them. Black sedans squealed on the tiled floor of the mall as Brian and company powerslid around a penny fountain. Brian thought. Got to get rid of them somehow... Aha!

The Caprice pulled a sharp turn into a Victoria's Secret. Brassieres, thongs, and erotic perfume scents flew all over as the car plowed through. Brian hit the gas to break through the back wall and find themselves in the mall's back hallways. Left, right, right, left the car went as it barreled down the bare concrete corridors. Brian saw a stairwell and headed for it with a full head of steam, catching a fair share of air as the car landed on the roof.

Brian looked at Floyd, Thomas, and Galarraga. They all looked like they had soiled themselves.

"----, man," Floyd managed to say. "Where in hell did you learn to drive like that?"

"Grand Theft Auto helped me out a bit."

"Thank god for hyperviolent video games!" Thomas chimed in from the back.

Floyd radioed in to Piazza. "We're clear. We're perched on the roof of the Lexington Mall. Send the chopper."

"How'd you end up up there?"

Floyd shot a look of mock annoyance at Brian. "Long story. Just send Santana."

--------------------------------------------------

_June 2nd, 10:30 PM: Rebellion base._

Brian and Floyd's tour of duty had ended for today. The battle raged on, with the Organisation being put down at every opportunity. Eventually, the attacks ceased. After receiving confirmation of the Organisation's full retreat, Piazza sank into his chair and brought his hand to his forehead.

"This could be trouble," he finally said. The Organisation has never attacked us so openly like this. And in such an urban area, too. Usually we were able to cover up our previous battles because they took place in remote locations. But this was right in the middle of a metropolitan area."

David Wright walked in and sat with a somber look on his face. "We just received the damage report. Tropicana is close to structural failure due to an Organisation assault on our force garrisoned there. The St. Peter Times Forum is unusable due to a dirty bomb detonated in the area, and Raymond James Stadium was taken out by a kamikaze Organisation pilot who was carrying a MOAB and detonated it after he was shot down. That's only the sports side of things. The entire city of Tampa is now basically a wasteland, with St. Petersberg faring no better."

Brian perked up. "How many casualties?"

"10 rebellion, 1500 Organisation, no civilians."

"How did we manage to completely avoid civilian deaths?"

Piazza spoke up. "Today's times are extremely paranoid. Declare an "imminent terrorist attack" and you could probably clear out the entire New York metro area in a couple hours' time."

"So, how are you going to explain the destruction of the city?"

"We have connections to some people in high places. I'm sure they'll be able to conjure something up. In the meantime, expect the MLB to go on shutdown mode along with the rest of the country. Nobody innocent died, but an entire city was just wiped off the map. It'll be a shock."

Brian looked at the survellience camera screen. It showed what remained of Tampa. Almost on cue, as soon as Brian looked, Tropicana Field began to implode on itself.

_June 5th, 2:30 PM: Brian's apartment._

For the second day in a row, Brian sat in his living room in a mindless thrall, only half-absorbing the euphemistic news reports on the TV.

"... domestic terror force launched full-scale attack on the city of tampa..."

"... was met with the full force of the U.S. Military..."

"... completely obliterated..."

"... miraculously no innocent civilians were hurt or killed due to supreme evacuation plans..."

"... President Luthor unavailable for comment..."

Stacy slinked into the room and sank down into the couch next to Brian. She curled up next to him.

"Brian, I'm starting to worry about you. I know how it must have been to be there, but you're alive, along with everybody else."

No, you don't know, Brian thought to himself. He was explicitly told by Piazza not to disclose a single bit of what had actually happened to anybody, not even his parents or Stacy. He put his arm around her.

"Yeah, I guess you're right..."

_June 5th, 2:30 PM: The Office._

The Boss bristled. "The attack failed. The Rebellion is still alive and kicking, they've added Brian to their ranks, and now they have a major victory to call their own. You failed, gentlemen. I should have the right to kill all of you on the spot."

Carville, Steinbrenner, and Selig all tensed in their seats.

"But no matter. We now have the identity of all the top leaders in the Rebellion due to our mole in the organisation. My friends, meet our double agent - Denton Ruth!"

------------------------------------------------

_June 7th, 6:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum._

The MLB and the rest of the country gradually resumed operation. The fate of the Devil Rays was undecided. As of right now, they would probably play the rest of their games on the road. Relocation after this season was also discussed, with Las Vegas and Gotham City as the leading candidates. The events of the past two weeks weighed heavily on Brian's mind as he warmed up for today's game.

Three innings into the game, an A's pitcher beaned Sheffield. He took exception to this and started mouthing off to the pitcher. A brief confrontation between himself and the catcher ensued, but ultimately Gary took his base without major incident. The next half-inning, Brian made a boo-boo. He lost his focus briefly during a pitch and dadgumit - he hit a batter. He had no interest in fighting, so he ignored the player as he gave him a piece of his mind. The A miscontrued this as a sign of defiance, and tried to charge. Posada held him back and the player was restrained by the umpires.

All through this, Brian thought to himself. The world's gone topsy turvy. Major league baseball wasn't this violent before I was called up. Maybe I should get out of the game before the government starts calling for restrictions on MLB for brawls. He looked up after thinking to himself to see a fist.

_June 8th, 4:30 AM: Hospital._

Brian regained consciousness with a start. He opened his eyes to see a nurse leaning over him to adjust something on the other side of the bed. He closed his eyes to be a gentleman. After she was finished, he opened them again and attempt to sit up, only to be met with an intense pain in his head. He must've been knocked the ---- out. Another nurse poked her head in.

"You have a visitor."

Piazza walked in. "Good job out there. One punch and you're out. Certainly hope you're better in a pinch."

"Isn't it kind of late for visiting hours?"

"Yes, but this isn't a normal hospital. This is the Rebellion's hospital. Listen, there's been big trouble."

"And that is?"

"The Organisation has launched a systematic attack on the MLB. It's kind of surprising, considering that the top excecutives in the Organisation are the ones with the most stake in the continued operation of the MLB. They must have something up their sleeves."

"Systematic attack?"

"Yes. They've been eliminating the areas of some of the smaller market teams. Kansas City, Minnesota, and Seattle are some of the casualties. You can forget about an MLB season now. The entire nation's on lockdown, and all major cities are deserted, their populations evacuated."

"To where?"

"That's not important. What's important is that now we can fight without worrying about innocent people. As soon as you're ready, you're going to be deployed back to Oakland. The Organisation wouldn't dare attack the baseball bastions, like Boston and New York just yet."

"Wait, I just have a question."

"What's that?"

"How do you know the top executives in the Organisation?"

"We have a double agent there."

--------------------------------------------

_June 9th, 2:00 PM: The Bay Area._

Brian, Floyd, and one hell of a Chevy Caprice. The same combination that had led to much success in Tampa Bay. But today, there were some new faces. There to provide some extra firepower were Milton Bradley and one other guy who hadn't arrived yet.

Piazza had been real mysterious about the other guy, saying only that "you already know him."

Brian was about ready to nod off when suddenly the left back door of the Caprice opened and slammed shut.

Sheffield bellowed "LET'S GO!"

Brian started with a jump, and turned around.

"Sheffield?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Never mind."

The car rumbled out of the garage and began patrolling its assigned route. Nothing much. They were taking a short break near the Bay Area Bridge when Floyd noticed something flying towards the Transamerica Pyramid.

"Uh oh."

"Problem?" Bradley asked.

"Most likely."

Floyd pointed out the object.

"It's too small to be a plane," Brian observed.

At that instant an explosion ripped through the center of the Pyramid and it snapped in half. The top began tipping over to the right, while the bottom fell to the left.

"Holy hell! Who launched that?"

Their answer was presented in the form of a jet flying overhead.

"----!" Floyd swore. "Gimme the goddamn radio! We need Piazza on the line, NOW."

"What is it, Floyd?"

"An Organisation mother----er just took out the Transamerica Pyramid. Deploy! DEPLOY DEPLOY DEPLOY!"

"I'm on it."

Another voice crackled on. "----ING HELL! This is Wright on air patrol. They're not holding back. I count several hundred cars and about half that many trucks. They must not have deployed their fighter jets ye - there they are. Jesus. OH ----! THEY SPOTTED ME! THEY - _click_"

"Wright? Wright! WRIGHT!" Floyd was almost screaming into the radio. No answer. There would be no answer. A flaming jet streaked across the sky, followed by several Organisation pilots. They continued tearing into it with their guns. The wounded plane attempted some half-hearted evasion maneuvers, but it met its ultimate fate, crashing into the base of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Floyd had an indescribable expression on his face. A lone tear went down his cheek.

"Let's get these mother----ers," was all he managed to say.

"Yes. Let's."

-------------------------------------------------------

_June 9th, 2:15 PM: Bay Area._

As soon as the Organisation's army hit, all hell broke loose. Within 10 minutes, the air was heavy with smoke. The battle zeal that had possessed Brian and his squadmates had been replaced with a grim sense of duty over Wright's death. Piazza radioed in with problem areas, they went and solved those problems.

"Piazza here."

"Yes."

"Our SBC Park base is under heavy assault. Go."

With the Caprice's extra oomph, they powered through the battle to the point of destination.

"Damn, he wasn't kidding when he said 'heavy assault'."

No less than 20 jets filled the skies, and at least triple that much cars surrounded the perimeter. Cliff turned around.

"Shef and Bradley, get the miniguns out. We need to hit them hard."

They did as they were told.

"Alright, Brian, now punch it. When he starts accelerating, boys, perforate'm."

Gunfire erupted as the car approached the wall of trademark black sedans. It burst through the flames and through the front gates of the parking lot. After some navigation, the car found its way onto the field. They parked and got out, only to be confronted with David Ortiz.

"What took you guys so - YOU!"

He noticed Brian and lashed out. The two scuffled before Floyd forcibly broke them apart.

"Damn it! This is not a time for personal vendettas! We're fighting a war here!"

Brian and Ortiz glared at each other for a second before a bomb to the grandstand jolted them into action. Anti-aircraft fire shot up into the sky and the jet fell out of the sky into the bay. Pedro Martinez went over to the "Water Shot" board and added one more. Floyd and Brian set up their position.

"Bogey at 4:30!"

Floyd rotated and unleashed a couple of rounds. The plane lost altitude. Spiraling down, it took out the luxury and press boxes on its way down.

Sheffield called out from the neighboring emplacement, "Hah! Never really liked the media anyways."

After a couple of minutes... "Nothing's showing up on radar anymore. Good job, guys."

The boys had just got done repacking their emplacements when a loud roar zoomed by, followed by the grandstand being obliterated by multiple explosions. When the dust settled, Brian sat up. Just half an hour ago, this was one of the premier ballparks in the MLB. Now it was just a pile of rubble with a bigass Coke bottle. Sheffield and Floyd were out and about, trying to regain their senses. Milton Bradley was laying a couple of yards away.

Brian asked "Is he -"

"Dead?" Floyd said, then nodded his head.

"God damn."

"All the more reason we've got to take down these Organisation mother----ers."

Floyd radioed in. "Cliff here. Unfortunately, despite our effort, SBC is down. We seem to be the only survivors, except for Bradley."

"Holy mother of god. They have stealth bombers now. These guys are more powerful than we expected."

"How are we going to take out something we don't even know is there?"

A distant rumble.

"They're comin' back for sloppy seconds. We have to get out of here. Piazza, stay on hold for a second."

As the car sped out of the wreckage of SBC, Floyd got back on the radio.

"What's the report?"

"Bad. Supplies to Oakland are compromised by the Organisation's assault on the Bay Bridge. It's holding, but just barely. We assume that it's stealth bombers, because nothing's showing up on radar."

"You want us there?"

"Yes."

Brian didn't need the confirmation to start speeding away.

------------------------------------------

_June 9th, 2:45 PM: Bay Bridge._

"Floyd here, Piazza. The bridge is on bad shape. One of the towers is half destroyed, so some of the bridge is going to be unsupported. We're going to need real light cavalry to get supplies across it."

A stealth bomber streaked overhead.

"----! He must be reconnoitering the bridge for a final blow."

Piazza's voice crackled over the radio, "Then what are you waiting for? TAKE IT OUT."

Floyd turned to Brian and Sheffield. "The anti-aircraft guns aren't going to be of much help because it's a single target. We're going to need two homing launchers."

As Floyd and Sheffield set up, Brian got a launcher of his own just in case.

"He's coming..."

The plane swooped in. As it pulled up to drop its load (resist any nasty thoughts), Floyd screamed "NOW!"

Sheffield and Cliff both loosed their payloads and missiles streaked through the sky. The pilot, seeing these coming, dropped the bombs before meeting his maker.

"He's gone. Wait... No.. ----!"

Brian popped up, calculated a bit, then let his missile fly. It flew... It flew... It hit the bombs!

"Holy mother of god! How did you - ?"

Brian pointed to his head.

"Alright guys, you've done enough. Back to base."

_June 9th, 3:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum._

"And the word is...?"

"Major damage to San Francisco, but Oakland survived relatively unscathed. The Golden Gate Bridge was compromised by Wright's jet crashing into it, it's probably unusable."

The mood suddenly went somber at the mention. A face flashed up on the screen. The four were stunned into silence. Brian managed the first words.

"How the..."

Everybody searched for the words. Sheffield came up with them first, although they weren't exactly sensitive.

"Ain't you dead?"

David Wright looked kind of perturbed.

"No... Why would I be?"

Brian sputtered, "Well - because - you know - er..."

He made the motion of a plane crashing and exploding, "You went BOOM!"

Wright looked off to the side. "No, I was on patrol duty in Chicago. Oh, wait a minute. You must be thinking of Jared Wright."

All four men in the room went "oooooh."

"Anyway, I called to mention it to Piazza that the Organisation seems to be deliberately avoiding the so-called 'baseball bastions', Chicago, New York, and Boston. I don't like it. They're gearing up."

Piazza spoke. "We lost San Fransisco today. So far that only leaves Miami, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and the Big Three. The Rebellion is fast fading..."

"I suggest an assassination," Sheffield spoke up.

The suggestion shocked the other four. "Assassination, are you crazy?" Floyd begged the question, "We don't kill unless it's necessary in battle."

"And you are going to kill a LOT more in battle if you don't decapitate the Organisation now!"

A silence fell. Brian said, "Well, he does have a point..."

Piazza exploded. "NO! There is NO ----ing way we are going to kill in cold blood like the Organisation does! No! I won't condone it! And if you dare to try and defy my orders... I may be forced to take drastic action."

Seeing Piazza getting ready to draw his pistol, Sheffield drew his. "Oh, no you don't," he warned, "not on my watch. Put it away."

Floyd drew his piece and so did Brian. There was now a four-way standoff - Sheffield at Piazza at Brian at Floyd at Sheffield. David Wright looked on with nothing less than horror.

"Guys! We're supposed to be allies!"

Piazza growled, "I can't be allies with somebody who suggests something as vile as assassination."

The tension was reaching a breaking point.

Then a gunshot rang out and Piazza staggered back.

Piazza fell onto his back leg, blood gushing out of the wound in his shoulder. He put his hand up to it and observed the blood. He spoke in a voice that was at once calm and seething with rage.

"Who did it?"

A voice answered.

"I did."

The tall, thin frame of Denton Ruth stood in the doorway. A smoking gun lay in his hand. Floyd flew into a blind rage.

"You MOTHER----ER! I'LL ----ING KILL YOU!"

Floyd fired off multiple gunshots. But the trembling in his hand caused them all to miss. Denton's expression became even more somber.

"Floyd, I don't want to have to do this..."

Another gunshot rang out. Floyd stumbled back. He felt his chest. Blood. He swallowed hard.

"You mother----er..."

And with that, Floyd fell foward. Piazza looked on with rage, unable to do anything as his second-in-command died.

"You will regret that, Denton. You will pay! And pay! And pay! AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY!"

With that, Piazza fell over backwards into an automated plane, which took off. Wright was still on the telescreen. Comprehending what had just happened, he let out a scream of mental agony. Completely unhinged by the violence, his mind snapped. He smashed his telescreen in Chicago, and turned around, heading for his trusty jet with an insane glimmer in his eye.

Brian stood through all this with a dumb expression on his face. Denton spoke.

"Brian, Sheffield, you need to come with me."

_June 10th, 10:00 AM: Road to an unknown destination._

Brian had been bothered by something all night. He gathered his gumption and confronted Denton.

"Denton, I have to ask you something."

"What?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you do it? Piazza and Floyd..."

"They threatened you. As much as the Organisation hates you... The Boss realised... He needs you alive."

"Wait, why are you talking about the - gack!"

Denton grabbed Brian by the throat. "Can't you figure it out yet? I'm not one of you "Rebellion" soldiers! I work for the Boss! I work for the Organisation!"

Brian struggled free, holding his throat tenderly. "Why, Denton? Why'd you do it?"

"Because I saw it when I first saw you. You had more talent than I could even comprehend. From the very moment I saw you, I hated you. You were more than I could ever be. And I hated that."

Sheffield burst down the door. "Bombastic much? God damn, man, you sound like a Final Fantasy character!"

Denton's eyes glowed with rage. "You fool! The Organisation already knows all about the Rebellion that it needs to know. They launch an attack within the week. The MLB will not survive."

Brian knocked out Denton with a right hook. "Not if I can help it, man."

_June 10th, 10:30 PM: The Office._

"... Boss?"

"What is it, Selig?"

Selig quietly walked into the room.

"It concerns Denton. He has been found out by Brian and Sheffield, and they're out to thwart our plans now."

"It matters not. We have won already."

An alert flashed on the telescreen. The Boss responded.

"What is it?"

"This is General Carville from Chicago! David Wright has gone insane! He's launched a full one-man offensive!"

"What are you waiting for? Destroy him!"

"Well, sir, I'm not sure what to do! He's fighting against Rebellion and Organisation alike! We were about to turn our guns on the Wrigley Field base when he took it out himself!"

The Boss's mind stirred. "Sedate him, then. He may be of use to us."

-----------------------------------------------

_June 11th, 12:00 PM: The Office._

"Well, well, well, David." The Boss paced around Wright's bed. "You certainly caused us a fair bit of trouble. You took out the entire city of Chicago, left NOTHING standing. Impressive."

Wright glared at the Boss. "Well, Wright, you're going to serve MY purposes, and mine only. How am I going to do that, you ask?"

The Boss held up a little worm. "This little bugger here will crawl into your ear and secrete chemicals that cause you to develop multiple psychoses. The President himself bred these little things before he was elected to the Big Office. Alright, Dr. Sivana, you can begin."

The Boss left the room to the tortured, gagged screams from Wright as the mind-worms crawled into his ear. Selig walked up. "Boss, we have an update on the Rebellion."

"And that is...?"

"Sheffield and Brian have broken off, and Denton managed to kill Floyd, but Piazza got away."

"One out of two is good enough. That's .500."

i June 11th, 12:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum. /i 

A hand stirred.

i June 11th, 12:00 PM: Ruins of Chicago. /i 

Brian gazed out at the massive pile of rubble. "Well, Shef, it looks like we were a little late."

"No ----."

A diesel engine rumbled behind them. Brian and Shef both whipped around, guns drawn. It was not an Organisation truck, however, but a slightly dilapidated NYM team bus. It stopped, and a 5'11" figure stepped out. Sheffield's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Pedro."

"'ey, Gary! How ya doin'?"

Gary lunged, held back by Brian. "Do you REALLY want to do that to a potential ally?"

He settled down. "What are you doing here?"

"I ran here after the destruction of San Francisco, hoping that maybe I could find some shelter here. Not ten minutes after I arrive, David Wright goes ballistic and takes out the whole city by himself. I found big boy here wandering around the wreckage of Wrigley."

A really big figure stepped out. "I'm hungry."

Brian stifled a giggle. "Mo Vaughn, eh?"

"Yep, him."

Shef nearly yelled, "God DAMN, he's fat." Brian punched him in the shoulder.

"Well, hanging around here ain't gonna do anything. City's already gone."

The bus radio crackled. "This is the Boston division of the Rebellion! The Organisation has launched a full attack on the city! WE NEED BACKUP!"

Shef sulked slightly. "How are we going to get there so fast?"

Pedro smiled. "Climb aboard, everybody, and I'll show you a surprise. It's the same way I got from San Fransisco to here so fast."

_June 11th, 12:05 PM: Oakland Coliseum._

A figure sat up, thanking his lucky stars for the accelerating healing factor his nanomachines gave him.

--------------------------------------------------------

_June 11th, 12:06 PM: Ruins of Chicago._

Brian and Shef climbed onto the bus along with Pedro and Vaughn. There sitting in one of the front seats was none other than David Ortiz.

"Oh. It's you guys."

"Vaughn and Ortiz in the same confined space? Shouldn't there be a black hole forming?" Shef mumbled to himself. Brian punched him in the shoulder.

"So, what exactly is this surprise?" Brian inquired.

"Sit down. The bus doesn't have seat belts, so hang on for dear life."

They did as they were told. Pedro sat down at the driver's seat and started the bus. He pressed a couple buttons on the dashboard... And suddenly the bus lifted off the ground. Brian was startled, but Shef just rolled his eyes. "First the Organisation destroys a bunch of cities for a pitcher that can't even break 80 mph, now we have flying buses? What's next? A massive bucket of chicken?"

"I could go for some chicken," Vaughn mused from the back. Shef slapped his forehead.

"Hold on!" Pedro called from the front. Everybody was then pinned down in their seats as the airbus rocketed foward.

_June 11th, 12:45 PM: Battleground Boston._

The airbus passengers could see the battle before they could see the city. Massive plumes of smoke were lifting into the air. Pedro guided the bus through the aerial battle with almost surgical precision before landing in Fenway Park. The taratataratat of gun emplacements was dominant. Pedro looked around, then his expression ashened. "Oh great, who let him in here?"

He pointed to John Rocker walking around the outfield. "David, please."

Ortiz raised a PSG-1 and fired. Rocker dropped. "Alright, good. Now we need to find the field commander. Where is he?" Pedro asked a passing bat-boy.

"He's in the owner's box."

They trodded their way up there. Pedro swung open the door - and Brian and Shef nearly jumped out of their shoes.

"Hey, Cliff!" Pedro called out. The shadow of none other than Cliff Floyd turned around. His expression turned from one of amicability to hostility at the sight of Shef and Brian. "What the hell are those two doing here?" he demanded.

"Er, well, they were in Chicago, and they are members of the Rebellion..."

"Not anymore they aren't." Cliff rubbed his chest where the bullet had struck him.

Brian raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. "Cliff, we didn't fire the bullet. Denton did."

"But you guys did start the standoff."

"I would have put the gun away in an attempt to save face."

"But then you would have gotten Denton to shoot me."

"No, I wouldn't have."

Cliff raged at Brian. "Then why the hell did he shoot me? Weren't you guys in cahoots with him?"

"No, we weren't."

"Then why did he -"

Piazza came up behind them. "Because he's a spy of the Organisation."

Cliff blinked. Pedro stood there with a look of total confusion on his face. "What happened?"

"It's not important," Piazza assured him. Suddenly Brian was struck with curiosity.

"Uh... Cliff?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you get here so fast? I mean, you were basically dead as of yesterday. Plus, in the last update, you were still in Oakland Coliseum when we left for Boston."

Cliff just smirked. "I have my ways. Isn't that right, TopGear?"

Yes, it is, Cliff.

Shef looked disappointed. "So, that's it? We're all buddy-buddy again? No hard feelings?"

Cliff turned around. Piazza hamstrung Shef and pulled out a gun. "Vaughn, hold him down." He did as he was told.

He turned to Brian, and handed him the gun. "If you really want to join the Organisation, prove to us that you're ready to rid yourself of the cancer of Sheffield. Shoot him. In the head."

Brian gazed at the gun, and took it. Conflicted emotions ran through his head. He knew the Organisation would get him without the help of the Rebellion... But he couldn't shoot Sheffield.. Brian arrived at a decision. He'd have to do this fast...

He held the gun to Sheffield's head and fired.

Brian had his eyes closed, then opened them to witness his handiwork.

"You were really going to ----ing shoot me, weren't you?" Shef demanded. Brian was stunned.

"Uh..."

Piazza took the gun. "You proved yourself. Of course, there's no way we'd actually let Shef get killed."

"Why's that?"

"He orchestrated our spy in the Organisation."

A silence. Piazza turned to his brain trust.

"Anyway, we must turn our attention to the battle."

He turned around to observe the motley crew behind him, then looked back.

"I think we have a suitable batallion right here. Pedro, you brought the bus, right?"

"Yep."

"Good. Floyd, you go with the crew."

Cliff cracked his knuckles. "Can't wait to crack some more Organisation heads."

He took his trusty P90 off the rack. "Let's go."

_June 11th, 1:15 PM: The streets of Boston._

The bus roared out of the base garage, catching some air time and bouncing upon landing. Inside, Pedro was at the helm, wearing a cowboy hat. "Yeee-haw!"

The crew in the bus, poised at stragetic windows with assault rifles, looked at this spectacle and chuckled. Brian jumped up.

"My pants are vibrating!"

He pulled out a cell phone. He forgot he had this. Checking the caller ID, Brian nearly fell over. It was Stacy. Obviously she must be worried about him, but he couldn't take the call just yet. He reluctantly put the cell phone back in his pocket.

The bus fishtailed to the right through an intersection and now they were heading to an Organisation group apparently on coffee break. Cliff barked orders. "Alright, Pedro, you take care of the cars with the bus's missiles, we'll clear off the sidewalks.

Not a second passed before two potent warheads were flying full-force at the cars parked in the street. Flowery plumes went up. Guns went off both to and from the bus. The boys were done cleaning up when a large "SLAM!" startled them, followed by a car flying up and away from the bus.

"Whoops! Must've missed one," Pedro called from the front. Cliff shook his head.

"Anybody else hungry?" Vaughn asked. Shef smacked him in the back of the head.

Another wide powerslide in an intersection. Only this time, the bus was facing down an entire army.

"Oh. ----," Pedro needlessly mused.

Brian's mind raced. He saw a construction ramp on the sidewalk. He lept to Pedro's side.

"See that?"

"See what?"

"That ramp."

"Yeah - oh. Oh boy."

Cliff came up from behind. What are you guys talking about?"

Brian pointed out the gigantic armed division in front of them.

"----! Turn around!"

"No, wait, we don't need to. See that?"

"You can't be serious."

Ortiz came up, asked the same questions. "What? That? No ---in' way."

Shef came up. "You're ----ing crazy."

Vaughn came up. "I'm hungry." Shef smacked him in the back of the head.

Brian called out. "To the right!"

Pedro swerved and lined the bus up with the ramp.

"Here goes nothing!"

Everybody bore down on whatever they were holding onto. The bus didn't have a speedometer, so nobody knew how fast they were going. The ramp approached. Shef mumbled to himself, "This is ----ing crazy..."

"HERE WE GOOOO!" Pedro yelled.

The bus lurched upwards, and then - weightlessness. Everybody floated a bit out of their seats. Pedro was flying out of his, keeping himself from flying away by holding onto the steering wheel. Brian looked out the window and saw the lines of black sedans swarming beneath them. The bus's engine roared without the friction of tires vs. pavement to slow it down.

Cliff shouted, "The landing's gonna be a -----! Get the hell back in your seat, Pedro!"

"HOLY ---------------------------------------------------------!" was Pedro's answer. The ground started approaching.

"This isn't gonna be fun," Sheffield mumbled out loud.

SMASH. Everybody suddenly because 300 lbs heavier and slammed down into their seats. The bus's suspension groaned and bounced upwards on impact. Everybody in the bus was stunned by what they had just done. Pedro looked behind them. They had cleared the army. He tossed his cowboy hat in the air and started whooping. Cliff and Brian both fell back into their seats and sighed. Shef was mumbling to himself about how that shouldn't be physically possible, but was still relieved. Vaughn was thinking about steak.

Cliff stood back up. "Alright, everyone. That little thrill ride is over. We still have a job to do."

The gang kept driving on down the streets, patrolling. It seemed to be unusually quiet... The quiet before the storm?

"Damn, I thought I'd be able to knock a few more heads." Cliff sat back, polishing the handle of his P90.

"_crackle_... repeat, under attack! Somebody, anybody respond! The FleetCenter is under - oh god! He's coming back! HE'S COMING - _crackle_"

Cliff sat up. "Pedro, full speed."

"Gotcha, captain."

Upon arrival, it was clear they were already too late. Nothing remained, a hulk of rubble.

Shef perked up a bit. "Anybody else hear that?"

Vaughn perked up as well. "I smell chicken." Shef smacked him in the back of the head.

A Harrier rose on the other side of the rubble as the bus.

"Hey, Cliff, what is that?" Pedro asked.

"It looks like a - oh ----."

Everybody turned to Brian. "Suggestions?" Shef asked.

"Uh, run."

-----------------------------------------

_June 11th, 2:15 PM: FleetCenter ruins._

The Harrier rose slowly into the air. The bus's radio crackled. David Wright's hoarse voice came over.

"Run... Guys... Please... I can't help myself... ergh.. agh... Prepare to die!"

Floyd's expression was one of confusion. "Wright?"

"Run...!"

The Harrier fired off two missiles. Pedro yelled "Holy God!" and jammed the bus into reverse. He swung it out sideways and dodged behind a building just in time. The Harrier produced itself around the building.

Floyd leaned out the window. He had a clean shot... But brought the barrel down.

"What... the hell are you doing... Floyd? Shoot me... AGH! You see this? THIS IS YOUR FATE!"

The Harrier let fly two more missiles. Pedro slammed the gas and sped under them.

Ortiz pushed Floyd. "What the hell? You could have taken him out right there!"

"I... I couldn't."

Brian's mind stewed. "We could take him down non-lethally, take him into custody. Then we wouldn't have to kill him."

"Oh boy, the genius has an idea," Shef said to the ceiling.

Vaughn suddenly stood up. "Do you want to avoid killing? Do you want to save the life of one of the most promising prospects in baseball? Do you? Then sit down, you son of a -----, and listen to the man's idea!"

Everybody stared blankly at Mo. Vaughn shrugged. "Hey, I'm not hungry ALL the time."

Pedro yelled from the front. "He's catching up to us!"

Brian quickly discharged his plan. There was a fuel line under one of the wings. It'd take a crackshot to hit it and disable the jet. Ortiz volunteered for the job. "I could shoot a fly off of a plateau a mile away with a handheld pistol," he bragged, "this ain't nothing."

"Alright, Pedro, get into a big, wide road so the Harrier will be exposed."

The bus drove onto a highway. The Harrier aligned itself behind them.

"Ok, Ortiz, you ready?"

Ortiz gave the thumbs-up. "Ok, here goes nothing..."

Steady... Steady... Steady... FIRE!

The Harrier wobbled. It began losing altitude.

Floyd, Shef, and Vaughn all looked on in concern. The Harrier smashed into the pavement and slid to a stop harmlessly. Wright threw open the canopy and jumped out.

"You insolent fools! I'll have your -"

Shef grabbed him and injected him with tranquiliser. It was over.

_June 12th, 11:00 AM: The Office._

Selig walked up sheepishly to the Boss.

"Uh... Boss?"

"We lost the battle in Boston, didn't we."

"Yes, we did, but there's other news..."

"What's that?"

"Wright was recaptured."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope."

A gunshot. Selig slumped.

"Failure is not tolerated."


	6. Three Days

_June 12th, 12:00 PM: Rebellion HQ._

"How's Wright doing?" Cliff asked.

"He's been better, but he'll pull through," Piazza said. "Oh, Brian, just the person I've been looking for. You did good out there. I mean, nobody else spotted that fuel line. By the way, there's something for you up in your room."

Brian made his way up there and opened the door. "Stacy?"

She turned around.

_June 13th, 8:00 AM: Rebellion HQ._

Brian walked into the room with a slightly bouncier step than usual. Shef laughed.

"Aha! Somebody got laid!"

Vaughn smacked him in the back of the head. Shef turned around to glare at him, at which Vaughn just shrugged.

Piazza stood up at the room of the room. "Alright, guys, the end is at hand. The Boss is extremely paranoid. Two days ago he shot Selig simply for being the messenger. Our spy is telling us that he's planning a last-ditch attack on New York. Of course, one should question the sanity of such a plot, considering that we defended Boston so easily. But that isn't important right now, what matters is that he's planning to do it. You guys proved to be our best spec-ops team during the Battle of Boston, so we're keeping you together."

Nods of approval.

"Alright, you guys are going to be patrolling the most sensitive area of the city: Manhattan. Any objections?"

Nope.

"Alright, you guys get outta here and head for the Apple. I still have lots of briefing to do, so I'll catch up with you guys at the Shea base."

As they walked out, Shef looked kind of ticked off. "What's eating you, Shef?" Cliff asked.

"Why is Shea Stadium our base? I mean, there's another potential base like what, 20 miles away in the Bronx. You ever hear of it? It's called Yankees Stadium. It's a lot better than that dump Shea. I mean that place is a ----ing sewer -"

Brian, Pedro, Vaughn, and Cliff all pointed to the Mets logo on the shoulder of their uniform. Shef looked sheepishly at the Yankees logo on his. Ortiz looked at the Red Sox on his and shrugged. He was the neutral third party.

"You're the last remaining Yankee in the Rebellion, Shef," Cliff warned, "do you want it to stay that way?"

Shef glanced away. Whoopsies!

They climbed into the bus.

"Anybody else -" Vaughn was about to ask.

"Don't you even dare," Shef threatened.

Vaughn gave him an incredulous look. "I was about to ask if anybody else is ready."

"Oh."

"Damn, man! That's twice owned in the past half-hour!" Pedro laughed.

Piazza's voice came on the radio. "Hold up, boys. Look around you. See anything missing?"

They looked. "Nope."

"Yes, you are missing something. It's a little bit of the feminine touch. You have an additional member of the team coming on. I wasn't originally going to put her on, but she scored near-perfect on the training test. Higher than even you, Cliff."

"No ----ing way."

"Yes ----ing way. There she is now."

Brian looked out the window. A girl was walking up. She had war-paint on her face and was carrying a Spas-12 over her shoulder. She looked kind of fam... iliar... Brian gaped in disbelief.

"Stacy?"

_June 13th, 8:15 PM: The bus._

Brian was staring blankly off into space, trying to comprehend this. His girlfriend was going to fight too. Ortiz poked him.

"Earth to Brian. You still here?"

"Uh... No... Er... Yeah... Eh... No..."

Ortiz looked up and announced to the congregation, "We lost him."

Brian snapped out of it. He looked up at Stacy. "Why?"

"Piazza told me about your little situation. I felt I needed to help."

Cliff stood up. "That's good enough for me. Let's get to to work."

But nothing happened that day.

_June 14th, 6:00 AM: Dawn of the First Day. _**72 Hours Remain.**

_The Office._

"Boss, I can't agree to this plan. You would end the world just to kill one single pitcher?"

"Yes. If I can't beat him fairly, I have no qualms about ending civilisation."

"I can't condone this. No, I WILL NOT!" Steinbrenner turned red and jumped from his seat. He turned to leave.

"Steinbrenner, GET BACK HERE," the Boss had a look of calm anger on his face. "I know what you have done. The Rebellion is focused solely on New York now. They know we are to attack."

The Boss looked up. "And you were the only other one who knew about the attack. I have deduced it. YOU ARE THE SPY. Kill him, boys."

Jeter and A-Rod stepped out of the shadows behind the Boss, who said, "He is a traitor to the Organisation. You have your work cut out for you. Kill him."

Jeter and A-Rod looked at each other. With a nod, they pushed over the Boss's chair and leapt over the table to Steinbrenner, who patted them on the shoulder. "I have the upper hand now, Boss."

The Boss stood up and dusted off his jacket. "Flee, then. I will still be the one who brings down the Moon and ends the world."

Steinbrenner and the Duo left, leaving the Boss to his machinations.

_June 11th, 6:05 PM: The Rebellion Base._ **71:55 Remains.**

Piazza sat down at his console and almost instantly an alert came up from his secretary. Piazza read the notice.

"No... He can't be THAT mad..."

Piazza called an emergency meeting. The threat of Armageddon now loomed.

"Basically, this is how it's going to go down," Piazza went on. "They're going to launch a massive attack on New York to try and distract us, and he's going to have some contraption his scientists are designing right now be sent up to the Moon and push it out of its orbit towards Earth. I have no idea how we're going to stop that."

Brian spoke up. "We can't stop the Moon, but we can stop it from starting to fall altogether."

Shef sat in the corner with his arms crossed. "Now does assassination sound like such a bad idea?"

Piazza looked down. "Unfortunately, Gary, it doesn't. We don't know where the Boss's offices are, though."

"I do, though."

Steinbrenner walked into the room, flanked by Jeter and A-Rod.

"He's based in my own Yankees Stadium. That's why he's left New York for last, because it's his base."

Ortiz asked, "Who exactly is the Boss, anyways?"

Steinbrenner lowered his head. "Not even I know. The Boss has always concealed his identity using some sort of hood. He's real paranoid about people knowing who he is."

"So we're dealing with an evil Little Red Riding Hood?" Shef asked in a sarcastic tone. There was chuckling. Comic relief.

"When's the attack?"

Steinbrenner looked at his watch. "Sometime tomorrow."

-------------------------------------------------

_June 14th, 12:00 PM: Shea base._ **66 Hours Remain.**

Piazza and the crew went over the war plans. Yankees Stadium would be heavily defended. Assaulting it will not be easy. But it had to be done.

"Alright, Pedro. There's a limo entrance over here. The bus isn't going to fit. So MAKE it fit."

Pedro nodded and smiled at the thought.

"Wright, you'll be in the Harrier jet. Most of our airforce was lost in the... Attack on Chicago, so the Organisation won't be expecting something from the air. You'll commence general bombardment."

Wright nodded.

"Cliff, Brian, Vaughn, Shef, Stacy, and Ortiz, you're the welcoming party. After Pedro drives you in, storm the place."

Shef twirled a Desert Eagle around his finger. "Good. Can't wait to wring the Boss's neck."

Piazza turned to point again at his videoscreen map when it went dark. Static. And the shadow of the Boss came up.

"I know what you fools are doing," he declared. "And you will fail. I have more firepower here than you can even imagine."

He held up a remote control of a sort. "And I have this. By the 16th, the moon will be blasted out of its orbit and will struck the Earth with sufficient force to blow it to pieces. You can say goodbye, now."

Static, blackness, and the map came back up.

"What a mother----er," Stacy mumbled.

"Hmmmm..." Brian stroked his chin in thought. "He said he was going to blast the moon out of its orbit. That means that there are explosives involved. Explosives... That can be used to..."

"Destroy Yankees Stadium," Cliff finished the thought.

"And the Bronx, too," Shef added.

Ortiz spoke up. "But is anybody gonna miss it?"

Shef glared. A scrub ran up to Piazza with a folder.

"Hmmm, _mumble mumble_..."

He looked up. "The Boss isn't bluffing. There's a rocket being set up in the Yankees Stadium field. Countdown unknown, but I'll trust the Boss on this one. He isn't one to bluff on his threats."

_June 14th, 5:00 PM: Shea base._** 61 Hours Remain.**

The crew ate dinner in the clubhouse. A heavy tension hung over the room. Tomorrow would bring a lot of battle.

_June 15th, 6:00 AM: Shea Base._

**Dawn of the Second Day. 48 Hours Remain.**

The first stirrings of battle.

"Piazza, we've detected Organisation movement from Yankees Stadium."

"Alright, guys. Are you ready?"

Silence was his answer. "Then go."

_June 15th, 6:10 AM: Shea base garage_. **47:50 Remains.**

No sooner were the crew settled into their positions when Piazza came on over the radio.

"Good lord. There's 50 times more of them than we expected. Guys, we'll have to put our assault on the Stadium on hold. We need you to help us defend the city against the Organisation first."

Cliff gaped. "FIFTY TIMES MORE?"

"At the very least."

Cliff rubbed his eyes and turned to the group. "And the decision is?"

A minute later the bus roared out of the garage and turned right into Manhattan rather than the Bronx. A Harrier rose of out of the base behind them. Wright radioed in. "Good lord, Piazza wasn't kidding. There's a ----ing sea of black swarming from the Bronx."

The bus led a charge of over 50,000 Rebellion cars into the City. This would be a battle of cataclysmic proportions. Pedro turned onto Broadway at Times Square. All was quiet. Even the huge TV screens were still functioning, showing MSNBC's coverage of the battle.

Then a sonic boom, and all the windows and screens shattered. A stealth fighter rocketed down past Times Square from 7th Avenue, and the Organisation's trademark black cars poured down. Rocket salvos rained down on them from the Rebellion ranks, but it was like slapping at the ocean. Pedro rammed a couple of cars with the bus to try and get some maneuvering room.

"Damn," he said, "it's almost as if it's a normal day at the city."

"Yep," Cliff said as he was reloading his P90. "Complete with road rage and everything."

A missile was let fly directly at the bus.

"Oh ----!" Ortiz yelled.

A Harrier dipped down low and left a chaff in the path of the missile. Its targeting system went haywire and it diverted itself into a mob of Organisation cars. BOOM.

"You can kneel down to me later," Wright radioed.

"And do what, exactly?" asked Shef."

Silence.

"Ha!" Shef laughed.

Pedro was getting frustrated with being stuck in traffic. He backed up the bus, and floored it. Bump bumpity bump bump went the bus as Organisation cars were crushed underfoot.

"Flattening'm like bugs," Pedro laughed.

"It's almost as if Mo Vaughn's sitting on them!" Brian cracked.

"Hey, man, that ain't funny," Vaughn pouted.

Stacy pulled back from her window. "----, I'm out of buckshots for the Spas."

Cliff foraged around in his gun bag for a bit, and pulled out a bazooka. Stacy's eyes widened. "Please?"

"Sure."

Fire one! 3 cars down. Fire two! 2 more. Fire three! 4 more. Oh baby. Stacy came back into the bus looking like she'd just been laid by Brad Pitt.

"I had no idea you were such a pyromaniac," Brian inquired.

"You never asked."

"Ba-ZING!" Shef said. Brian glared at him, and he quickly turned back to his firing post.

Pedro got some open ground. "Alright, we're behind the battle lines now," Cliff said half-to-himself. "Now we should focus on getting some of the stragglers."

Now, we move on to the big picture. An overwhelming defeat at Times Square forced an Organisation retreat. It was now not rank-and-file warfare, but guerrilla.

"This is MB at Carnegie Hall. The Organisation has garrisoned the building. What should we do?"

"Bellhorn, you dope, we're not using the codenames anymore. We dumped them like a week ago," Floyd stated.

"Well, sorr-ee, lord and master. Anyway, what should we do?"

"Take it out."

Explosions.

"----."

"What?"

"We missed!"

Pedro raised one finger. "Strike one!"

"Try again, dammit."

Explosions.

"----."

Floyd smacked his forehead and dragged his hand down. Pedro, "Strike two!"

"Again."

"Explosions."

"----."

"You're kidding me."

Pedro punched the air. "Strike three! You're OUT!"

"Try again?"

"No, no. We'll handle it."

The bus quickly made its way to Carnegie Hall, which was the only building standing for a hundred feet. "Oh. My. God," Floyd held his head in his hands. "Pedro, please."

Pedro fired the bus's missiles. Explosions and down Carnegie went. A flaming jet flew overhead. Wright's voice came up on the radio. "Aha! I got a bogey! Oh, wait... no... NO! THE OTHER WAY! THE OTHER WAY!"

"What's the matter, David?"

"It's heading straight for the Empire State Building!"

"It's a kamikaze pilot! Somebody take it out!"

Missiles flew up from all areas of the island. All missed. Within a couple of seconds, the plane hit the 70th floor of the ESB. The impact was so enormous as to knock the top 12 floors, the Observation Deck, and the antenna clean off the building. After 5 seconds of silence, the top part of the ESB landed on top of an Organisation squadron, squishing them. Brian was the first to speak. "Well... It wasn't a total loss."

"Uh oh, I've got some -------s behind me."

"Dip down, Wright. Maybe we can handle some of them for you."

Wright's Harrier dipped down into the urban canyon of 7th Avenue. Stacy leaned out the window with the bazooka. She timed the fire perfectly. A flaming hulk of an Organisation jet hit the ground hard and rolled like a flaming barrel down the road a bit.

"Damn, she's good," Oritz was in love.

"Don't even think about, Ortiz. She's mine." Brian was protective.

"Fine, whatever."

The radio crackled once again. "This is Piazza here. The Organisation is routed. You guys were exceptional. We only detect around 50 Organisation forces around the entire city. Now, I know you want to go show the Boss what's what, but it'd be much better if all of you were fully rested for the job. Back to base."

_June 16th, 6:00 PM: Shea base._

**Night of the Final Day. 12 Hours Remain.**

It was time.

The bus came out of the garage again. This time, though, there were no wisecracks, not even from Sheffield. After a couple of minutes, the ominous Yankees Stadium came up.

Piazza came up on the radio. "Be wary. The Organisation is prepared for one last stand."

As if on cue, an Organisation jet formation flew by overhead. Wright was in hot pursuit. "I got a bead on one'f'm."

A missile flew and a jet dropped. His Harrier danced a dangerous dance inbetween the lines of anti-aircraft fire emanating from the stadium.

Brian was impressed. "Damn, can you teach me to fly?"

"Maybe," said Wright wryly.

Stacy lifted her now-beloved bazooka and fired off. A mid-air explosion and a flaming ball fell into the Harlem River.

"Whoa, nelly," Wright said. "I've never seen that before... Shooting down a plane with a bazooka."

Stacy shrugged. "Hey, don't get too full of yourselves now," Cliff pointed out, "we got company on the ground."

Black cars poured out from the Stadium. "Set?" Floyd asked.

"More than you'll know."

Pedro fired first with two missiles from the bus's launchers. Cliff's P90 shredded some cars as well. Brian's Spas-12, borrowed from Stacy after she fell in love with the bazooka, bombarded the enemy. Shef had himself a merry ol' time with a grenade launcher. Vaughn had a Barrett sniper rifle, the kind that can shred through concrete walls.

The Organisation was quickly defeated.

The radio crackled. "How cute. You managed to defeat my army again. But now I have an ace in the hole that will guarantee victory for me. From me with love."

The earth rumbled.

"What the hell's happening?" Shef asked.

A large mechanical groan sounded all around them. "I dunno," Brian wondered.

A huge mech hand slammed on top of the stadium, knocking the "Yankees Stadium" lettering off with its impact.

"WHOA!" Pedro backed out of the way of a falling T.

"Holy mother of god!" Wright's Harrier pulled a steep nosedive to avoid a second flailing hand.

It stood. It towered almost as high as the Empire State Building itself. A translucent circle was on its chest. It looked down upon the Rebellion's bus with its electronic eyes in a way that almost suggested disdain.

And then it unleashed an unearthly roar.

_June 16th, 9:00 PM: Yankees Stadium._ **9 Hours Remain.**

"Holy god."

"Whoa ----!"

"I'm hungry."

Such were the reactions of the Elite, as the crew had become to be known in the Rebellion. After finishing its roar, the mech resumed looking at the bus.

"Pedro."

"Yes?"

"Get us the ---- out of here."

Pedro slammed the bus in reverse and pulled a tail whip to face the other way. Wright's Harrier blasted over them, away from the mech.

"Sorry guys, but this wouldn't be much of a help."

"Piazza?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you see what we're seeing?"

"See wha - ho-lee ----. Uh, Cliff?"

"Yes, Piazza?"

"GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!"

Pedro needed no confirmation to floor it. The bus peeled out and began accelerating.

"----, Cliff, I can't get enough speed on this!"

Brian looked back out the window. The mech took a step. The foot landed in front of the bus.

"AIIIE!"

They swerved into a side street. Pedro wobbled and the bus slammed into one side, then the other, of the alleyway.

"Hold'er steady!" They came back out onto a main street - only to have a building crash in front of them.

"WHOA NELLY!"

They swerved to the left, Pedro hit the gas.

"Dammit, if only I had a little more power on this thing..."

Cliff reached over his shoulder and pressed a button underneath the speedometer. It flipped up, revealing a red button with a single word above it: "Propane." He pressed it, and the bus damn near popped a wheelie.

"Whee doggy!" Pedro yelled in delight as the bus began accelerating like a sports car.

"The mech's up ahead!" Shef pointed out.

It picked up another building and tossed at them. "Oh..."

Cliff grabbed the wheel and swerved to the right. Left! Right! Left! The bus slalomed with death as buildings rained down on them. "How the hell are we gonna beat this thing?" Ortiz wondered out loud. A missile blew by the bus and nnihilated an entire block behind them.

"Pedro, activate the jet mode."

He did as he was told. The bus lifted up and took off. The mech raised an arm and pointed it at them. "What's he doing?"

"I dunno, but you better get out of the ----ng way, just in case."

Just as they did, a laser beam seared the air. Cliff was aghast. "... Whoa."

"Hey, don't be going Keanu Reeves on us. We need smarts!"

"Well, we can't go back to the base, because that would reveal its location to the mech."

Wright's Harrier pulled alongside them. "I know what to do. Leave it to me."

"What are you going to - Wright?"

Wright didn't answer them. He activated the extra thrust on the jet and sped towards the mech. It flailed its arms at him.

"What the hell's he doing?"

The Harrier kept flying towards the mech... Then the circle on its chest shattered. A gigantic explosion emanated from the hole. The mech's eye's went dark and its limbs and neck went limp.

"D... Did he just what I think..."

Then the ---- hit the fan. The mech suddenly came back to life and roared with an intensity not seen from it before. It almost seemed as if... It were in pain. It screamed again, flailing at its head. After a couple of seconds, the head exploded, and the body began falling apart. A figure jumped from the shoulders and opened a parachute.

"It's Wright! He did it!"

Then the bus rocked and the back end was blown off. An Organisation jet had struck them.

_June 16th, 9:40 PM: Skies above New York._ **8:20 Remains.**

"OH MY GOD!"

The difference in air pressure immediately created a vacuum. Cliff was standing up and began flying backwards.

"Not on my watch!"

Shef reached out and grabbed an arm. Brian offered his hand and Cliff's other arm went up to it. The Elite's weapons flew out the back.

"----, we're defenseless," Brian needlessly mused. It took him a couple of moments to notice that Stacy was clinging to his arm.

"----! I got no control! We're gonna have to land SOMEWHERE!"

"Cut off the engines! We can glide back to Shea!"

Pedro cut off the fuel, and the rocking stopped. The jet that hit them blew by and came back again for another go-round.

"Pedro, we got any missiles left?"

Pedro's voice was almost inaudible. "No..."

"But I got some!"

A Harrier came up behind the jet. It attempted some evasive maneuvers.

"I got more experience than that, bub!"

The Harrier followed. A missile flew. The jet half-exploded and left a fiery trail enroute to decapitating the Chrysler Building.

"Whoops."

Cliff smirked. "Hey, Piazza, I thought you said you weren't going to fly a jet ever again?"

"I lied."

"Well, that's one lie I'm glad to hear."

"You're cleared to land at Shea."

_June 17th, Midnight: Shea base._ **6 Hours Remain.**

"You're meaning to tell me that we currently have NO way of getting to Yankees Stadium?" Shef asked in a vitriolic tone.

Piazza shook his head. "The Stadium is a veritable fortress right now. Trying to get there in a car would be suicide. You guys got as close as possible with the bus, and we don't have any of those right now."

Brian shook his head. "So we're going let the Boss blow the moon into the earth because we don't have a ----ing bus to get to the Stadium."

"Well... There is a way..."

"What is it?"

"We could try a HALO jump."

"Sign me up."

"We can't let you go alone. Cliff will have to go with you."

Cliff double-took. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

Floyd looked at the ground and chuckled. "Man, you always were a sonuva -----."

_June 17th, 4:00 AM: Air above Yankees Stadium._ **TWO HOURS REMAIN.**

Brian and Cliff had said their goodbyes to their significant others and to the other members of the Elite, and climbed into the plane. Piazza came on the radio. "Ok. We're gonna drop you right next to the stadium. After you infiltrate the stadium, a car is going to be dropped off by one of our other operatives -"

"Is it the Caprice?" Brian asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Yes!"

"... Anyway. Find the Boss, eliminate him, the end, we can all go home."

"You make it sound so simple. We're the ones putting our asses on the line."

"You volunteered."

"Touche."

"Ok. Jump right about NOW!"

Floyd and Brian leapt out of the plane. "Parachutes!"

They floated into the Stadium parking lot. Not too many Organisation here. Brian looked up. The giant hand-print left by the mech was still present on the top of the Stadium. Floyd pulled out his P90 and tossed a Spas-12 to Brian.

"You ready?"

"I came here to chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of ass. Er... Wait."

"Don't even bother."

"K."

They walked up to a service door. Floyd counted off one... Two... Three!

They kicked down the door in tandem. Floyd mowed down an entire line and then the firing pin clicked. Brian took his turn to clear the hallway. They ran down and stopped at a corner.

Floyd handed his empty magazine to Brian.

"Toss it."

Brian took it and backhanded it into the hallway. A rain of bullets pierced the wall. "They ain't taking prisoners, man!"

Brian took his Spas, poked it around the hallway and fired off a couple of buckshots before the recoil caused his one arm to become too flexible. He dared to poke his head around. Nobody left alive. Cliff and Brian tiptoed down the hallway. It was quite... Too quiet. After coming out of the service hallways and into the concession areas, they were even more suspicious. There was nobody here. CRASH. A wall burst down. Brian and Cliff whipped around and focused their weapons on the offender. Cliff lowered his slightly.

"Jose Conseco? What the hell have they done to you?"

A muscle-bound hulk stood in front of them. A pack on his back had tubes that plugged directly into his back, legs, and arms. He didn't answer Cliff. Instead, he picked up a concession stand and hurled it at the pair.

Brian dove to the right, Cliff to the left. Brian raised his Spas and fired at Canseco. He recoiled in pain, but the bullet holes in his arm quickly regenerated.

"He's got accelerated healing, Cliff!"

"It's probably related to the ---- that's being pumped into him!"

Canseco took this little conversation break to break out a gatling gun that would make Vulcan Raven ---- himself.

"Oh ----. RUN!"

Brian and Floyd scrambled as the gun shredded everything in its path. Concrete, steel, concession stands, ticket offices, it didn't matter. The pair regrouped in a service hallway behind Canseco.

"Alright, Brian. You're the brains here. What do we do?"

"Let's see... I remember reading in some comic that, with beings with accelerated healing factors, a broken neck takes the longest to heal from. You've got a little more meat than I do, so while I distract him, you come up behind him and snap his neck. It won't kill him, but it'll stop him for a bit while we figure out what to do."

"Ok, let's - ----!"

Canseco wandered into the hallway and looked down the opposite direction of the pair. Cliff ducked back into the concession area. Brian hid behind a wall, waited until Floyd was in position. Then he jumped out. "Hey, you ----head!"

Canseco turned his head with an angry grunt. "What's the matter with you now? Can't function without having more juice in you than a Kool-Aid factory?"

Canseco's glare almost made Brian lose his nerve. But he saw Floyd sneaking up behind Canseco.

"So c'mon, then, big boy! Get me!" Brian fired a buckshot into Canseco's chest. He looked at it, then charged for Brian with an angry roar. Brian dove at the last second. Floyd jumped onto Canseco's back, got his head in his hands and snapped to the left with a sickening CrAcK. Canseco dropped, whimpering.

"Ok, what do we do?"

"Uh... Let's see... Batman beat Bane by ripping out his Venom tubes. Maybe we can do the same to Canseco?"

But Canseco suddenly jumped up and turned around to face the pair.

"Uh... Looks like he regenerates a little faster than the Hulk."

"Yeah. Run."

The two ran into the concession area again. "Run for the field!" Cliff ordered. They did, but Brian tripped. He turned around to meet his maker. Canseco stood about 20 feet behind him. Was that a car engine he just heard?

Canseco heard it too, and turned around - to recieve 3500 lbs of Chevy Caprice in the face. It landed on him then burned out, turning Canseco's face into a road painting.

"Who the -"

Wright poked his head out the driver's window and looked back at his handiwork. "Not a bad work of art, eh?" he asked rhetorically, and winked.

Cliff walked back and helped Brian up. "I never thought I'd be so relieved to hear one of your cheesy one-liners."

Wright stepped out. "According to Piazza, I'm supposed to report back to base now, but I think you guys could stand some company, can't you?"

"I'm always ready for company."

Wright pulled out a modified-looking Desert Eagle. Brian was intrigued. "What does that thing do?"

"It's a machine DE. See? It's got a big handle to hold 14 bullets, it's heavier to avoid recoil, and it has an automatic firing feature. One bullet per second."

"Damn. That could ---- somebody up."

"That's why I took it."

The trio, now, made their way to the field. The rocket towered above them. A figure was standing at the base of the rocket, bathed in shadows.

"Indeed. This is my final option, I suppose. To end the world, and civilisation as we know it. All because you wouldn't listen to me and stop playing baseball."

"Ok, Boss. End it. You're going to bite the big one anyway, might as well spare the world your fate."

The Boss turned around. "Me? Spare the world? And be defeated at the same time?"

The Boss stepped out of the shadows. "I'm **BARRY BONDS**, dammit. There's nothing in the world more important than me."

_June 17th, 5:30 AM: Yankees Stadium._ **HALF AN HOUR REMAINS.**

Just a couple of weeks ago, Brian had pitched in this stadium, under a clear night sky, to the roar of 50,000 fans. Now, the sky was blood red above them, the grandstands were demolished at the hand of a gigantic mech, and a huge rocket towered in the outfield. Quite a difference.

"I'll admit, I didn't expect you guys to get past Canseco," Bonds said as he strolled around, admiring his doomsday device. "That man was beyond juiced."

"Yes, we had to get some outside help," Brian said, with an approving glance towards Wright. He raised his gun.

"Well, if you won't surrender peacefully, we'll have to take you out of commission." Wright and Floyd raised their guns as well.

"And what would that accomplish? This rocket has a little thingy thing... I don't know what it's called, exactly, but if I die, the rocket will launch automatically. A tracer, I think it's called."

"A dead man's switch?" Shef asked condescendingly.

"There you go," Bonds nodded.

Brian lowered the Spas. ----."

"Hah! In half an hour, you won't be able to do THAT anymore."

Wright was enraged and tried to charge Bonds. Floyd held him back with an arm and shook his head at him.

"Quite a pickle, isn't it?"

Brian's mind raced. A solution, a solution, a solution. He... He can't think of one!

Outwardly, Brian threw his Spas down onto the ground in disgust at himself and turned around. "Right, throw down your gun. Fighting is useless. Wright sauntered over a bit to Brian. He pulled something out of his back pocket... A bomb?

"High-grade C4," he whispered, "if one of us can distract the Boss enough, we can blow it. But..."

"One of us will have to die," Brian completed the thought. "But who?"

"I'll do it," Wright offered. "I have to atone for what I did in Chicago... Seeing Floyd shot, I completely forgot that he had healing nanomachines and went crazy. Then I was captured by the Organisation and they turned me to their cause - for a battle. Then you guys took me back..."

"It was actually Vaughn's idea to take you down non-lethally."

"That oaf?"

"Yeah. I just thought of how to do it."

"Thanks."

"Eh, it was nothing."

"You boys done finished talking behind my back?" Bonds asked.

Brian turned around, picked up his Spas, and aimed it at Bonds.

"Hey, -----!"

Bonds turned around with an offended look.

"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you."

"We're not going down without a fight."

Cliff grabbed Brian and whispered fiercely into his ear. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Wright has a plan."

"Alright then."

"You'll regret talking to BARRY BONDS like that." Bonds pulled out two sawed-off shotguns from behind his sports jacket. "Prepare to be shredded."

Brian lowered his Spas slightly. "C'mon, Barry. Can't come up with a better one-liner than THAT?"

Bonds fired. The trio scattered. Brian popped up from behind a crate and took a couple of Spas potshots. But he made a critical mistake. While running from cover to cover, he stumbled. Bonds pounced on the opportunity. Brian's left foot quite literally blown apart by the two shotguns. Brian collapsed in unimaginable pain.

Now it was Bonds' turn to make the mistake. Instead of finishing off Brian, he walked over. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he asked arrogantly. Brian looked underneath his legs. Floyd and Wright were setting the detonator.

"Meh, I'm still better than you."

"You little ----."

Bonds kicked Brian in the gut. Brian coughed up a bit of blood and looked up at Bonds. "I just have to ask, Barry. Why? Why did you do what you did?"

Bonds, seeing a chance to sing his own praises, puffed out his chest. "Listen, Brian. I've run the MLB for the past 7 years. It's been all me. Selig? A figurehead. The real power behind the MLB was MY Organisation. When you popped up onto the scene, it occured to me that you could attain more star power than even I, Barry Bonds. Man who came with 10 homers of surpassing the Babe."

"Man, you still would have made the Hall of Fame even if I were to become famous."

"Yes, but I would not have been the most famous person in baseball history. If I didn't do anything, a hundred years from now people would mention both you and I, but I would be second to you. I wasn't able to stand that. So I ordered you to back off. But you didn't."

Brian looked back at Wright and Floyd. They had finished setting the detonator. Bonds noticed Brian's eyes and turned around. "Well, well. Somebody got clever."

A bullet hit Bonds in the shoulder. He looked in shock at the wound, then turned around to face his assailants.

_June 17th, 5:50 AM: Yankees Stadium._ **TEN MINUTES REMAIN.**

"Where the hell did you two come from?" Bonds demanded of the pair.

A-Rod and Jeter stepped out from the shadows. "We used to play here," Jeter said. "It was one of the holy cathedrals of sports. But YOU -" he pointed at Bonds "have desecrated it. We WILL get you back for what you've done to our stadium."

A sound of a gun being cocked behind them. Shef stepped up behind the two, dual-wielding MP5's. "Damn right!"

Bonds looked down at Brian. "You orchestrated this, didn't you?"

"No, he didn't. I did." Steinbrenner walked up. "You insulted me like I was a nobody. I was the owner of the New York-goddamn-Yankees! And you treated me like I was a speck of dirt! Well, no more. It ends today, Bonds. When Shef came up to me with the offer of being the Rebellion's spy, I took it. I took it because I couldn't stand being your lackey anymore."

"It does indeed end here, George," Bonds said. He walked a couple of steps and glanced at his rocket. "No matter what happens to me, it ends with you DYING. You and every other pathetic human being on this planet."

At the mention of "pathetic human beings", Brian suddenly had a vision of Stacy's face and was met with renewed strength. Against the odds, he stood up on his shattered foot and picked up his Spas.

"Drop the shotguns."

Bonds turned around, seemingly not startled by this turn of events. He dropped the guns. "Last-ditch hero, eh? You don't have the balls to shoot me."

Brian shot a buckshot right over Bonds's head. "You were saying?"

"Eh, I've been wrong before," Bonds smirked.

Brian was enraged and shot Bonds in the leg. He stumbled.

"To quote somebody, 'not so high and mighty now, are you?'"

Brian held his Spas at Bonds with one hand. Bonds looked at the ground, then glared at Brian suddenly. He jumped up and punched Brian in the face with enough force to send him stumbling. A-Rod, Shef, and Jeter instantly plugged him with tens of bullets. Bonds fell.

"He's dead?"

"Not quite."

"Good."

Cliff and Wright ran by, picking up Brian. Brian beckoned out to Shef and the others. "What about you? Aren't you going to get out?"

Jeter turned around. "No. Once this stadium is gone, there's no reason for us to go on anymore. The Yankees as they were known are finished."

Brian was carried by Wright and Cliff, looking back at the last Yankees. He was placed in the back seat, and stared out the window in shock as Wright kicked the car in gear and floored it.

_June 17th, 5:59 AM: Yankees Stadium. _**15 SECONDS REMAIN.**

A-Rod, Shef, Jeter, and Steinbrenner all sat in a circle, absorbing the last moments of Yankees Stadium with almost serenity. Bonds crawled over to the rocket. The rocket countdown was at 5 seconds, but the detonator was at 4. Bonds lowered his head and closed his eyes, conceding defeat.

"Out by half a step," he mumbled.

A flash, and Yankees Stadium and half the Bronx vanished.

_June 17th, 6:01 PM: Shea base._ **Dawn of a New Day.**

The car sped into the base to the cheers of all the remaining Rebellion members. Wright and Floyd stepped out, and Brian hobbled out on his bad foot. He absorbed the cheers, then remembered the Yankees and what they had done. He looked down at the ground.

He looked up to see Piazza looking at him with pride. Then he stepped to the side. Stacy was standing there. Her pants were puckered wet down along the insides of her legs.

"I was so worried about you, especially with the explosion..."

No more words were necessary. Brian hugged her.

The scene caused the cheers to die down. Piazza nodded approvingly, then went to congratulate Wright and Floyd on partaking in a job well done. Pedro and Vaughn were standing off the side with watery eyes and sniffling. They looked at each other, then hugged, blubbering like babies.

Even up at the Pearly Gates, Jeter, A-Rod, Shef, and Steinbrenner looked down, smiled, looked at each other, and wandered off into Heaven for eternity. Bonds, sitting and waiting for his judgement, looked down, and saw the beauty and pureness of the scene.

"My god... What was I trying to do? I'm so stupid! STUPID! STUPID!" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the face of the Big G himself.

"I think you've already suffered enough," he said. He and Bonds walked into Heaven. So, even for our antagonist, Barry Bonds, there was a happy ending.

But for Brian and Stacy, none of this mattered. Only one another.

_**THE END.**_


	7. The End ?

After the War, the country latched onto baseball as a stabilising force. Piazza and Floyd quickly reorganised the MLB, and the teams almost immediately began playing at minor league stadiums that were not affected by the war, and the fields filled to capacity and beyond. As the cities rebuilt themselves (and new cities, as well), they added huge and magnificent ballparks the likes of which had never seen before. The teams were new, too.

**The New MLB:**

_NL East_

New York Nightmare

Philadelphia Bells

Atlanta Bulls

Gotham City Knights

Washington Grays

_NL Central_

Keystone City Pirates

St. Louis Cardinals

Houston Cacti

Chicago Bears

Kansas Tumbleweeds

_NL West_

San Diego Midshipmen

Los Angeles Dodgers

Coast City Guards

San Francisco Rainbow

Las Vegas Aces

_AL East_

New York Goliaths

Boston Red Sox

Hub City Caps

Florida Hurricanes

Philadelphia Athletics

_AL Central_

Kansas City Kings

Green Bay Shippers

Detroit Demons

St. Louis Browns

Dallas Sheriffs

_AL West_

Seattle Reign

Oakland Crushers

Salt Lake City Reverends

Idaho Potatoes

Los Angeles Stars

Brian and Wright quickly signed with the New York Nightmare after their creation, as Floyd stepped down from an ownership stake in the New MLB to become owner/GM of the Nightmare. They played in the Cathedral, a towering, 150,000 person Neo-Gothic structure built on the site of the former Yankees Stadium which was regularly filled to capacity (as were all baseball stadiums). After the Bronx was annihilated by the Bonds Rocket in the war, the U.S. Government opted to rebuild it as a quiet, idyllic suburban area, with the sky-scrape dominated by the towering Cathedral, its height exceeding 60 stories.

The Cathedral itself, as stated before, was a towering Neo-Gothic structure, with five decks optimised for maximum visibility of the field no matter where you sat. In the first full season of New MLB ball in 2007, the Nightmare faced the Goliaths in the World Series, with the Nightmare winning a thrilling full seven game series with a walk-off shot by Wright. Both teams participated in the trophy presentation, a moving ceremony of both looking to the future and remembering the past, with a memorial video of the Yankees presented on the Jumbotron in left field. Conspiracy theorists to this day insist that the Subway Series was rigged.

As for the characters ourselves, after the war, Brian devoted his life to baseball, and as his arm matured, he was able to throw faster. By age 23, his arm had strengthened enough that he could throw 95 mph, which only made his off-speed stuff all the more deadly. He won the Cy Young award in 2007, amassing 34 wins and 2 losses, a WHIP of .50, and an ERA of 1.18. By 2015, his career stats were so mind-numbingly extraordinary that fans everywhere - New York and beyond - were clamoring for a special exception to be granted so that Brian could be inducted into the Hall of Fame as an active player. Being only 27 years old, Brian still has quite a bit of career ahead of him, and things only look to get better.

David Wright grew into the white version of the 1990's Barry Bonds. In 2008, he won the MVP award on the heels of 60 HRs, 30 SBs, 180 RBIs, and a .350 AVG. He and Brian are the superstars of New York, approaching the levels reached by the duo of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. They remain firmly anchored in the Big Apple and look to be going nowhere fast.

Mike Piazza is now the Commissioner of the New MLB, having helped organise the league. In 2009, his first year of eligibility for the Hall of Fame, he was elected in with an unprecedented unanimous vote, for his on-field accomplishments, his stepping-up in the War, and his hand in creating the New MLB. If his reign continues as it has so far, he may be elected into the HoF as a Commissioner as well.

Cliff Floyd is now the owner/GM of the New York Nightmare. After the war, he wanted to go into seclusion to percolate the events in his head, but Piazza talked him out of it, and he and Floyd were the co-creators of the New MLB. After this, Floyd bought the New York Nightmare and realised his dream of owning a Major League franchise. His standards for GMs were so exceptionally high that he couldn't find one he wanted, so he appointed himself GM. People protested at first, but quickly quieted down when he signed Wright and Brian to the same team. He has proven to have a good head for the economics of the game, and having a 150,000 person ballpark doesn't hurt, does it?

Pedro Martinez is now the manager of the Boston Red Sox. After the War, he continued to pitch, and even played for the Nightmare during the 2007 season. Unfortunately, an car accident during the 2007/2008 off-season forced his retirement, and he was immediately offered a managing position by both the Nightmare and the Red Sox. Pedro respectfully turned Floyd down and signed with Boston, reasoning that his heart remained in Boston as he had the best years of his career there. In 2011, Pedro was voted into the HoF with only one dissenting vote, that one vote being a stodgey old Yankees fan voting against him in good-natured fun.

After the War, Stacy enlisted in the military. She proved to be an excellent firearms specialist and was the first woman in United States history to fight in a standard infantry unit. After completing tours of duty in Latveria and Atlantis, she and Brian began dating again. In 2007, during the World Series trophy presentation, Brian proposed to her on national television, which she happily said yes to. They are now celebrating their 7th anniversary.

Mo Vaughn lost 100 pounds over the course of a couple of years thanks to a strict diet. He started playing baseball again, his arthritic knee almost a non-factor due to his decreased weight. After a while, he was signed from the Somerset Patriots to the Nightmare's AAA team, the Edison Eagles. He was brought up to play the final game of the 2009 season, and retired for good afterwards. He is now the Nightmare's first base coach.

-----------------------------------------------------------

**April 3rd, 11:30 PM: After Opening Day 2015, Brian's Bronx house.**

Brian stumbled into his house, slightly tipsy from the celebration. The Nightmare had just won one of the most thrilling games in New MLB history, and man those guys knew how to party! Even Floyd got crocked. Brian showered, put on some clean clothes, and walked into his bedroom. Stacy was fast asleep on the bed. Brian spotted a champagne bottle on the night table on her side of the bed. Apparently she had a bit of fun as well. A piece of paper on his pillow intrigued him. Did Stacy leave one of her love letters? Brian read it.

"You may have forgotten me, but I haven't forgotten you. I swear on my grave that I WILL have revenge. Love - The New Boss."

500 yards away, a sniper took aim.

A gunshot.


End file.
